Mytholigical Miz or Asgard v Olympus
by Ithilmir
Summary: [VERY OLD PIECE] What would happen if the gods of the ancient world decided to take possession of the Mizzes? Rated T for a few words that creep in now and again. COMPLETE!
1. Prologue

Author's Note: If Enjolras was Apollo, then who were the others? What would happen if the Celt & Nordic gods decided to fight it out with the Roman & Greek gods by taking possession of the Mizzes? Who would be who and who would be left out? What's more, who'd win? One thing's for certain; Marius definitely ain't Cupid…

**Prologue**

Somewhere – Sometime

Humanity's been around a long, long time. Where there are humans there is naturally belief; and so if there's a lot of excess belief and changing ideas around you're going get redundant gods. In a back corner of heaven is the Home for Retired Deities and as always it is quite crowded. Gods don't like people cramping their style (or any kind of cramp) and so this overcrowding often leads to arguments and frays between deities – and today is no exception.

"Is that right, lady?" Thor thundered at Venus. 'Lady' sounded almost like an insult.

"It is," Venus said pertly, shaking her long golden tresses that would have made any mortal man sigh with love and desire – except none of the men up here were mortal. "You and your happy bands of Celts and Nordic mud-spirits were no match for us. You were uncouth, unwashed and liable to rape a donkey if it looked at you twice! We were the bringers of civilisation to your backwards worlds!"

"Oh? Look who's talking?" Odin chipped in. "If I remember correctly some 'civilised' people were demanding blood sacrifices from their followers just because they were prettier than you? Ring a bell?"

"Ding dong!" shouted Bacchus, bursting into fits of laughter and falling backwards off his chair.

"And you can talk?" growled Zeus. "Who were the ones with the mad priests and shamans?"

"Then if we were so backwards," said Epona, spitefully. "How come Rome's glorious legions adopted me as their deity and became devoted to my cult? Seems you lot are down in the mud with us after all!"

Anubis sat on the side watching the argument progress and yawned. Bastet sat next to him washing her ears.

"I dunno," he said. "We're all up here with a comfortable retirement and they're still arguing about thousands of years ago. Last time it was who nicked who's names, or who was the real thunder god. By the way who won that one?"

"Who cares?" said Bastet, cleaning herself with the annoying gymnastic primness that cats possess for occasions such as this. "I don't see why they just don't have at each other and get it over with. They're bound to do it sooner or later,"

Anubis began to nod his head in agreement, but then stopped. A sly smile spread across his black face (ever seen a jackal smile?).

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Why don't they?"

Anubis stood up, spread out his arms and called with a regal voice;

"My lords! Ladies! Yea, brothers and sisters of the celestial heavens!"

The bickering continued, growing louder if possible. Anubis rolled his eyes in disgust, then cupped his hands around his muzzle.

"Oi! You lot! Belt up!"

Immediate silence reigned over the extra dimension as all eyes turned to the Egyptian god of the Dead.

"That's better," he said, hands on hips. "This is no behaviour for gods or goddesses – redundant or not. Your constant arguing is getting on our nerves. Now, I reckon that if this is ever going to end we need to settle this once and for all – in the traditional way. I propose a challenge!"

There was much murmuring and excitement from the assembled host – they hadn't had a decent challenge for centuries.

"I propose," continued Anubis, taking advantage of the momentary peace. "That we do something along the lines of Five-a-Side. Five gods or goddesses from each side – in this case Asgard v. Olympus – take possession of ten humans and fight it out down on earth. Also, for bonus points, each side has to convince one human to fight along with them as their mortal champion; can't get more traditional than that!"

There was a general chorus of cheers and approval from the crowd, but there were also a few worried faces.

"But, O Hound of the Dead," said Epona. "I think I'd better point out our decadent status forbids us to participate in divine intervention with the lives of mortals. How are we going to do this?"

"Don't worry, my Lady of Horses," said Anubis, a twinkle in his eye. "Here's the next bit; we pick mortals from books. Books are real in some alternative dimensions – we can intervene with make-believe mortals, but we intervene in the place where they are real. There's no law against that!"

There were some confused faces, but again there was a general chorus of approval. Spurred on by his continuing success, the jackal-headed god strode over to Thoth, god of wisdom, who was sitting in the corner reading.

"Wotcha, bird-brain!" he said cheerfully.

Thoth looked up slowly from over the book and pushed his reading glasses back up his thin beak.

"And what," he said. "My primitive member of the canine species, can I do for you?"

"Can we borrow some of your books? It's just we're playing a Five-a-Side game of divine intervention avoidance and we need a story for the pitch,"

"Oh very well then. Take a few off the shelves – and mind you bring them back in one piece! Last time I found swan feathers and guano in my copy of 'Emma',"

"Yeah, sorry about that," coughed the Jackal, sheepishly. "I was looking after Njord's ladies and Sophia didn't exactly agree with Jane Austin,"

Anubis grabbed a few books off the shelf and sauntered back over to the waiting crowd.

"Right!" he said, plonking the books down in front of him. "What do we have here? 'Black Beauty'… no, I think not. 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame'… definitely not. Here, how about this one; 'The Three Musketeers'?"

"Never!" cried Brunhilda. "Do you know how many references to Classical mythology there are in that one?"

"Nothing wrong with that," said Mercury, sulkily.

"Alright, how about this; 'The Lord of the Rings'?"

"Outrage!" cried Minerva. "That's almost completely wood spirits and mud-gods! Tolkien even admitted that mad wizard Gandalf was based on Odin!"

"Oh touchée, my lady!" laughed Bacchus, his wreath of grapes a bit skew-whiff.

"'Oliver'?"

"No!"

"'Master & Commander'?"

"NO!"

"'Lady Chatterley's Lover'?"

"N… How the hell are we supposed to fight in that one?"

"Oh I don't know," said Venus, provocatively making sheep's eyes at Thor. "I'm sure we could find a way,"

Anubis sighed and closed his hand over the spine of a very thick book. He turned it over and read the cover.

"'Les Misérables'?"

There was moment's pause. Anubis could here a few whispered discussions, then Odin cleared his throat.

"We accept," he said grandly. "We feel this book to be suitably free of Classical influence and that certain characters can be used to our advantage,"

"Agreed," said Zeus. "My fellow deities and I accept this challenge,"

"Great!" said Anubis. "Now I'll leave you to pick the teams – remember; Five-a-Side plus a human champion. We're playing in 1832, so there should be a wide enough range of interesting characters,"

A couple of hours later the team lists were presented to Anubis and they read as following;

"Asgard:  
1) Odin  
2) Njord  
3) Nemain  
4) Epona  
5) Taliesin"

"What?" Anubis looked up. "Not Thor? And how come Njord's playing? I thought he hated violence,"

"I usually do," said the god, smiling. "But I'm particularly fond of this story and I've already chosen my character. Besides, Thor is temporarily indisposed,"

There was a groan from the thunder god as he nursed a huge lump on his head.

"Fine," said Anubis. "But why Epona?"

"There's a girl down there named after me!" she said happily.

"And Taliesin? He isn't even a god!"

"I'm up here, aren't I?" said the poet and seer. "I can play if I want to,"

"Ok! That's settled then. Now, let's have a look at Olympus,"

"Olympus:  
1) Zeus  
2) Apollo  
3) Venus  
4) Bacchus  
5) Asclepius"

Anubis raised an eyebrow.

"Asclepius? Bacchus?"

"Somebody's got to bandage the wounded,"

"Cry havoc! And let slip the dogs of war!"

"Right… Looks like we're all sorted; let the competition begin! Remember, it's 1832, you have one earth day to get possession of your characters and half a day extra to persuade your champion. Good luck to you all!"


	2. Preparations

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, everyone. I apologize if the responses are just a _little_ late, but I've only just found the link. To AmZ -In response to review I have now changed the Javert possession bit slightly. Compare to the old & tell me what you think.

**Answers to reviews on Chapter 1**  
**AmZ:** Anubis is a cool dude, but I really wanted to focus on the two warring groups of gods that will figure in the story. Anubis will return though – I promise!

**Kasey Rider:** I did consider the Morrigan, but in terms of the three personality thing it might have got a bit complicated. I wanted to get in a few of the more obscure gods as well, so it was really a case of who made the short list.

**Mlle. Verity:** To be honest I don't really know that much about the Assyrian gods, but I'll see how it goes.

* * *

**Paris **– 1832

Valjean was pacing the floor of No. 7 rue de l'Homme-Armé. It was the morning after Cosette had seen those three shadowy figures outside the garden gate and he was worried. Javert had obviously caught up with him again and he was going to have to get Cosette away a soon as possible – he could stand his liberty being taken away, but he couldn't bear the thought of being separated from Cosette.

He paced the floor up and down, up and down, wracking his brains as to what to do. He could run again – yes, but where? Everywhere he had gone that hound Javert had followed, every step was dogged by that fiend. Where could he go to escape him? Either death or…

He stopped pacing and straitened up, the light of inspiration entering his eyes in a flash.

"That's it!" he cried to the empty room. "England! We'll go to England! Ha! I'd like to see him get us there!"

"Excuse me," came a voice from behind him. "May I have a word?"

Startled, Valjean turned to face the speaker… and Odin took control.

a-

The police post was busy today; there was revolution in the air and preparations were being made through the vast network of city spies, informers, special agents and ordinary officers. Javert was looking through a pile of papers he had been handed by the prefect and poring over a map of the city. Now and again a constable would enter with a piece of paper or a file and place it on the desk, or take said items away to pass on elsewhere. This was what he loved; the strategic planning of an operation, the cool calculation. Later would come the chase – he would be in the thick of it, using all the raw nerves and cunning he was born with to execute his duty. He smiled to himself, a feeling of self-satisfaction; but then a voice interrupted his train of thought.

"Is it really that integral to your being? How fascinating,"

Javert looked up sharply, annoyed by the impertinence of the speaker – he hadn't even knocked – but then anger turned to disbelief. Standing in front of him was a tall man with long silver hair, a short beard of the same colour and sparkling, clear turquoise eyes. He looked about sixty years old, but he was by no means frail or crippled – quite the opposite. He wore a tunic of calm blues and greens, and upon his brow sat a silver crown.

"What in heaven's name are you?" asked Javert.

The old man smiled.

"I'm impressed, M. l'Inspecteur," he said. "Very few people use the word 'what' in such a question,"

"How did you get in here?" Javert rose from his seat, coming round the other side of the desk. The stranger was not answering his questions and he was starting to get angry. "I didn't hear the door go. How did you get past the constables?"

"Allow me to introduce myself," said the man. "I am Njord; Norse god of the sea, lakes, rivers, meres, waterways and King of the Vanir gods,"

Javert looked at him, his face completely impassive.

"Right. And I'm Titania, Queen of all the Fairies,"

"No," Njord looked him up and down. "Titania was much prettier,"

"Constable!" Javert roared at the top of his voice. "I don't have time for this," he said to Njord, turning his back. "Enjoy your stay at the sanatorium,"

The door opened and a constable walked in, went up to the desk and stood to attention.

"Sir?"

"Constable, take –" but as Javert turned he stopped. The constable was not looking at him, but his empty space at the desk. He was listening intently and nodding at given intervals as if Javert were there giving orders. Javert turned to look at the smiling Njord.

"What's wrong with him? What have you done?"

"Nothing much," said Njord casually. "I have just created an illusion – you could wave your hands in front of his face or bellow in his ear as much as you wanted, inspector; but as far as he's concerned you're at the desk giving him instructions to go and find a file. It's as if we don't exist,"

Javert stared in horror as the constable proceeded to talk to the imaginary person at the desk, bow and then leave the office, closing the door behind him. He turned back to Njord, unsettled to the core. It was then that he noticed the old man didn't have a shadow.

"What do you want?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, Inspector," said the water god, gently. "The ancient gods of the Teutonic and Classical worlds are having a battle to decide the supremacy of their cultures. For this five gods from each side must take possession of a human and utilise their skills. I have chosen you, Inspector Javert. I need to take possession of your body,"

The look on Javert's face could not possibly be described. He backed away against the fireplace and picked up the poker.

"Get out of here," he said quietly. "Get out now,"

"So I take it that you will resist?"

"Like Hell I will! You're mad!"

"Shame," Njord sighed and looked at the Inspector sadly. "I hoped I wouldn't have to use force, but it seems as you are not willing there will be no alternative. I'm sorry about this,"

Njord took a resolute step towards Javert who raised the poker high above his head. He was about to bring it smashing down when he let out a yelp of pain. He dropped the poker and clutched his hand, watching horrified as the brittle iron broke into five pieces on contact with the floor. The metal had suddenly become cold – so cold that it burned! Njord raised one hand and Javert was flung back against the wall, where he fell to a crumpled heap on the floor. The god's figure dissolved into a blazing white light that filled the entire room – a light so intense that in it penetrated through flesh, bone, wood and stone. Shying away from the terrible brightness, Javert shut his eyes and screamed.

The constable returned back into the small office to find Inspector Javert sitting at his desk leaning forward, head in hands and eyes shut. He cleared his throat.

"Sir? I have that file you wanted,"

The Inspector looked up and nodded gratefully at the constable, then winced slightly and clutched his head.

"Thank you, constable," he said, somewhat pained. "Just leave it on the desk. I think I might knock off in a minute though; I'm getting a headache,"

The constable placed the file on the side of the desk and then withdrew. Once the door was shut the Inspector made to get up from the desk, but then was stopped short by another searing shot of pain.

"For the love of peace stop doing that!"

"_Serves you right,"_ said Javert, his thoughts echoing inside his mind. _"And if I had my way it'd be more than just a headache!"_

"I said I was sorry, Inspector," said Njord, utilising Javert's vocal chords. It was strange to have control of a mortal body – so many things to do, so many functions to take care of, but many of them dealt with unconsciously. The human brain was a remarkable thing. "I didn't want to have to do this, but it's happened now and we might as well live with it. It will not be for long,"

"_How long then?"_

"About two, three days at the most,"

"_Ugh,"_ Javert sighed. _"Just promise not to get me killed… please? I've got too much to do here and to go and die suddenly would be completely irresponsible,"_

"I promise," said Njord sincerely. He couldn't help but find a strange irony in his host's words. "Don't worry, Inspector; trust me on this,"

"_I've never had reason to trust anyone in my entire life; why should I trust you?"_

"Oh, you never know," said Njord, smiling. "You might learn something,"

Javert sighed, then settled down, took a back seat in his consciousness and watched the proceedings through a pair of eyes that were no longer under his command.

a-

The Café Musain was in uproar. The students were celebrating the arrival of the revolution and heroic oaths were flying through the air, grander by the minute (depending who'd had how much to drink). Enjolras was beside himself – without any artificial aids.

"The time is so near, my friends!" he cried. "All we need now is a sign, a sign to tell us that the hour has come!"

There was a blinding flash and a thunderclap as Enjolras was knocked to the ground, along with everyone else. Marius was the first to get up from the floor, using a table to pull himself upright.

"Was that it?"

Enjolras slowly got up clutching his head and moaning. Somewhat tipsily, Grantaire managed to drag himself off the floor – then he set eyes on Enjolras and cried out in a loud voice with outstretched arms.

"Kiss me, Apollo!"

"What?" Enjolras recoiled in fear. "What are you on about, Bacchus?"

"Dunno," Grantaire scratched his head. "Don't know what came over me,"

Enjolras looked around and frowned.

"Asclepius?"

"Here!" Joly got up from his chair and waved before coming over to join him. Combeferre got up.

"Zeus is here!"

"Where's Venus?" asked Joly, looking around.

"Who knows?" said Enjolras, shrugging. "Let the woman find her own possession – right now we have more important things to do, like find a champion! Come on,"

Marius stood up, mouth open in surprise.

"But… Enjolras! What about the revolution? We were in the middle of our plan of attack!"

"What? Oh… that'll have to wait for the time being," said Enjolras. "I've got something urgent to attend to,"

And with that he, Joly, Grantaire and Combeferre got up and walked out the café leaving Marius and the other Amis shocked and confused. Jehan, who had been sitting next to Marius, got up unsteadily from under the table.

"He walked out!" said Marius, disbelievingly. "He just walked out! Did you see that? What could be more urgent than the freedom of humanity? He walked out!"

"Did he?" said Jehan. "I wasn't looking. I think I'm going to go home; I feel a bit sick,"

After Jehan had staggered out of the café the atmosphere had somewhat cooled. It pretty much looked like the meeting was over and the revolution (for now) suspended, so Marius decided to go and see Cosette. She might be able to make some sense out of Enjolras' strange behaviour – she was usually good at things like that. When he reached the house on the rue Plumet he stopped just outside the gate and gave the secret whistle he and Cosette used. A few seconds later Cosette appeared in the garden and Marius' jaw dropped.

There was something different about Cosette – it was her alright, but she looked so… wow! She came up to the gate, a coquettish look on her face and held Marius' chin in her hand.

"My darling Marius!" she sighed heavily – so heavily it was almost orgasmic. Marius continued to stare wide-eyed. He was aware he was thinking things he shouldn't be.

"Cosette!" he gasped. "You're so… you look so…"

Cosette put her finger on his lips to silence him, then took hold of his cravat, pulled him closer and kissed him. Fireworks went off inside Marius' brain – never had Cosette kissed him in such a way! When they parted his head was spinning. How he wished the bars of the gate weren't there to separate them! But then, to his surprise, he found that he was on the other side of the gate in the garden. Odd. He didn't remember opening the gate or climbing over it. Cosette smiled and held out her hand towards him.

"Come," she said softly. "Come with me. Father's not in the house, Toussaint is out… we are alone,"

Marius made to follow, but a shred of morality held him back.

"Shouldn't we, um, shouldn't there be a chaperone? Only…"

Cosette seized his face and kissed him again, only this time deeper, more intense. Marius felt woozy and went weak at the knees. He was inflamed by hereagerness and the scent of her perfume was intoxicating. Cosette looked him deeply in the eyes.

"You love me, Marius, don't you?"

"Yes," he murmured obediently. He was completely mesmerised by her.

"And you want to come with me into the house to make passionate love to me and do anything to please me, don't you?"

Marius mutely nodded his head, hanging on her every word and movement. Venus smiled triumphantly – men were so easy!

"Well come on then," she said, playfully. "Don't be shy, my brave, strong, beautiful Marius,"

And with that she took hold of his hand and led him into the house, Marius following behind even more like a droopy-eyed puppy than ever. His afternoon had turned out better than he had ever dreamed!

a-

Odin crept through the backstreets, cautious of the vile surroundings and trying to master the rheumatism in Valjean's left knee – seeing with two eyes again was difficult as well. He glanced around a corner furtively.

"Epona?"

"Boo!" The figure of Eponine suddenly leapt out of the shadows and made him jump a mile in the air.

"By thunder!" he gasped, panting from the shock and clutching at Valjean's heart – it was pounding furiously. "Epona? Is that you?"

"Yep, O Lord of the Aesir!" The goddess gave a twirl, her grubby skirt flying around her. "Isn't it good to be back down here again? I feel so much alive!"

"Not surprising," mumbled Odin. "Where's Nemain? I thought you two came down together,"

"She's just coming," said Epona. A minute later the figure of Azelma came round the corner, a dagger between her teeth, eyes on fire and dragging a whimpering Montparnasse behind her.

"The bastard tried to have it on with me!" she fumed, dumping her captive at Odin's feet. "I say we slit his throat and then paint the streets with his blood!"

"Now come on, Nemain; that's a little excessive," said Epona gently.

Odin nodded in agreement, then bent down and picked Montparnasse up off the floor with one hand.

"Now listen to me, young man," he said quietly. "In a moment I'm going to put you down and you are going to run away from here as fast as you can, and if you look back even once between here and the river my ravens will peck your eyes out. Agreed?"

Montparnasse nodded furiously, then as soon as he was set on the ground he raced out of sight. A few minutes later there was a distant scream. Odin sighed and shook his head.

"People never take the bit about looking back seriously,"

Just at that moment the figure of Inspector Javert came striding round the corner, then stopped and looked up sharply. Odin, Epona and Nemain all tensed, human instinct getting the best of consciousness for a moment. Odin looked at Valjean's adversary uneasily – he had his hands in his pockets.

"Javert?"

"Odin?" asked Javert.

"Njord?" Odin straightened up and looked at the new apparition. "What do you think you're playing at? You know that's Javert you're occupying?"

"Yes, I do," said the water god, smiling with Javert's mouth. "What of it?"

"But it's Javert!" cried Epona. "He's a bastard!"

"I assure you his birth was quite legitimate,"

"No!" shouted Nemain. "He's, he's a policeman! A mad, obsessive, workaholic freak! Why on earth'd you choose him?"

"He is a workaholic," said Njord thoughtfully. "But he's not mad – he's completely, utterly and totally sane; I think that's actually more frightening. He weighs and measures every situation as if life's an exact science. You should have seen his thoughts as he was working out plans for dealing with the student uprising; quite fascinating,"

"No more, please!" said Odin. "Valjean's stomach is churning! Why did you choose him?"

"I might ask the same of you," said Njord, looking Valjean's body up and down.

"I chose him because he has great physical strength," said Odin, proudly. "Plus he has a kind and pure heart. Also, an old man is a good disguise to walk around this earth in; at least I'm not a psychotic policeman!"

"He has many qualities that people don't appreciate," said Njord, defensively. "His devotion to the task in hand is impressive, he is gifted with natural cunning and a formidable intelligence, his sobriety is a great advantage, he is a good fighter and his reputation and rank carry a great weight of authority,"

"I bet that's not all he carries," said Odin darkly. "At least my wife didn't choose me for my feet,"

Epona and Nemain exchanged glances and started giggling. Njord's eyes narrowed.

"I think I should remind you, _my friend_, that there is peace between our people because I did not wish to see the world torn apart in a bloodbath. Don't make me go back on my word. Remember also that the Vanir gave the Aesir the gift of magic; I can easily take it away again,"

"But," Epona looked up fearfully. "You wouldn't be about to plunge the Aesir and the Vanir back into turmoil? Not after all these millennia!"

There was a stony silence as Odin and Njord glared into each other's eyes. At length Odin spoke.

"I think," he said. "That these bodies are affecting our judgement slightly,"

"I agree," said Njord. "Javert's trying to move my arm to get out the handcuffs,"

"By the way, where's Taliesin?" asked Epona innocently. "He should have been here by now,"

"That's a point," said Njord, breaking the staring contest with Odin. "I thought he came down with you,"

"Same here," said Odin. "Knowing him he could have gone anywhere!"

Suddenly the slightly dazed figure of Jehan came staggering around the corner. Njord rolled his eyes.

"I might have known!"

"He's a poet!" said Taliesin – he hadn't quite got used to controlling a human body and was desperately trying to remember how to use legs.

"That seems to be all of us," said Odin. "Now all we need is a champion,"

Nemain looked around in disgust at the filthy backstreets.

"And where are we going to find one of those?"

"What about Marius?" sighed Epona, overly fond memories belonging to Eponine filling her head.

Odin burst out laughing.

"Somehow I think not," said Njord, flatly.

Epona looked very hurt and stuck out her bottom lip sulkily. Odin stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"Enjolras?" he suggested.

"No chance!" said Taliesin, starting to find his balance. "Olympus has already bagged him. They've also got Grantaire, Joly and Combeferre,"

"Leaves us rather thin on the ground," said Nemain. She turned to Njord and smiled evilly. "Can't you get one of your men to fight for us, Monsieur le 'Great Inspector'? I'd have thought your legions'd be _dying_ to help you out!"

"No," said Njord, ignoring the sarcastic remarks. "They're all young, inexperienced pups without a grain of sense between them – besides, everyone's too busy with the preparations for the revolution,"

"So who do we get?" asked Epona.

At that moment Gavroche jumped out of the shadows into the centre of the group.

"Wotcha, sis!"

Epona shrieked. Nemain pulled a face.

"Ugh! What is it?"

"I think what is commonly known as a gamin," said Njord, picking Gavroche up by the scruff of the neck and peering at him. "Though under the layers of dirt I can't be sure; might be a performing monkey,"

"Hands off, long-shanks!" said Gavroche, kicking and desperately trying to wriggle out of his over-sized shirt. "Put me down!"

"Nope, it's a gamin," said Njord, putting the disgruntled urchin back down on the floor. Gavroche, looking distinctly ruffled, gave Epona a dirty look.

"What you doing talking to a copper?" he asked, jabbing a grubby thumb in Njord's direction. "He banged you and the others up only last week! And you, monsieur," he said to Odin. "You always go the other way if you see him coming – why you all so cosy now?"

The assembled company all exchanged glances. Odin cleared his throat and knelt down level with the gamin.

"Urm, now… my boy," he said uncertainly. He hated talking to children. "What you need to understand is that your sisters, the Inspector and I have come to a little… agreement. There are some pressing matters that we have to deal with and for the sake of our success in this endeavour we have called a truce for this afternoon,"

"Great!" said Gavroche. "Can I come?"

"No," said Epona and Nemain.

"But I heard you!" said Gavroche, persistently. "All that stuff about gods and battles – 'We need a champion' you said; well here I am! Gavroche at your service!"

Odin let Valjean's lips curl into a smirk.

"Ah, young sir," he said. "I think you might be a tiny bit – how shall I put this? – _undersized_ for such a quest…"

"Am not!" protested Gavroche. "I can take 'em down any day! _'Coz little people know when little people fight…'_"

"Shut him up, someone!" cried Njord, clamping his hands over his ears. "Shut him up before I throttle him!"

Odin grabbed the gamin by the shoulders and put a hand over his mouth.

"Wait a minute; I thought this was only the book we were dealing with," said Epona.

"It should be," said Taliesin, frowning. "But I think because there's been so much bad fan fiction the lines have become a bit blurred, so now and again the odd piece of song might get through,"

"Oh no," moaned Njord, turning grey. "You mean he might start randomly singing again?"

"Any of us could," said Nemain, smiling happily. "Except for me! I wasn't in the musical! Haha!"

"Oh, _that_ makes me feel better," muttered the water god. Odin looked at Gavroche thoughtfully.

"On the other hand," he said quietly. "I don't see why not,"

"Why not what?" asked Epona, scratching the nape of her neck – the lice were beginning to get on her nerves.

"Why he can't be our champion," said Odin, smiling.

"What?" exclaimed Njord. "You can't! Javert will go insane before the day is out!"

"Your point being?"

"But he's just a child!" protested Nemain. "He won't survive a minute! It'll be sending a calf to the slaughter!"

"And since when has slaughter upset you?" asked Odin, unkindly. "Anyway, O King of the Vanir," he said mockingly, turning to Njord. "My great and worthy rival, you who taught magic to my lowly people; what's to stop you placing a few protection enchantments on him? Or after all these years have you lost your potency?"

Njord's face was a picture of fury. His whole stature seemed to grow in terrible might and authority. It wasn't as terrible if he'd just been himself, but in the skin of Javert it was still very impressive. He growled with a powerful voice, his eyes on fire.

"So help me, Odin! I'll…!"

"You'll what?" Odin grinned fiendishly. "My, aren't we quick to anger today? You're so much more fun when you can't control your emotions!"

"Not mine!" Njord snarled. "Javert's!"

With that he raised his right arm swiftly and a flash of bright white energy erupted from his fingers, throwing Odin back against the wall. Odin let out a cry, but managed to repel the attack.

"That's more like it!" he said, letting out a snarling laugh. "That's the Njord _I_ remember! I've been waiting a long time to do this!"

He let out a mighty roar and leapt on Njord, knocking him to the ground and the two gods rolled around in the dirt, wringing each others necks, trying to use brute strength to master their opponent.

"Some truce!" said Gavroche.

Epona took a step forward and screamed. A fierce wind whipped up that caught Odin and Njord, separating them and throwing them into the air. The wind then suddenly cut and they were dropped roughly to the ground.

"Enough!" Epona said sternly, hands on hips glaring at the two dazed deities. "You two might be immortal, but those bodies aren't! If this goes on you'll end up killing one or the other before the battle even begins, then where would we be? Now, I know it's difficult, but at least try to keep your host's hatred under control," she said to Njord. "And you," she said, glaring at Odin. "You stop using this as an excuse to vent your jealousy! Got it? Good. Now I want you to make up – go on,"

Odin and Njord looked at each other, daggers flying between their eyes. Hesitantly Njord got up, dusted Javert's normally pristine uniform down and walked to Odin, holding out a hand.

"Sorry,"

Odin looked at his hand cautiously, then took hold of it and Njord helped him up. Taliesin stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"So," he said. "It would seem that we are – what you would generally call – ready for battle,"

"Almost," said Njord, replacing a strand of steely-grey hair that had escaped. He looked at Gavroche. "Come here, young man,"

Gavroche looked at him cautiously and clutched onto Epona's skirt.

"Why? What're you going to do to me?"

"Nothing horrible," said Njord. "Just something to help you in the battle. It won't hurt; I promise,"

Hesitantly Gavroche walked over to Njord, who knelt down and took the gamin by the shoulders. He placed his hand on his head, closed his eyes and muttered something under his breath. He then stood up,arms folded over his chestand towering above him.

"You should be protected from most wounds and curses," he said. He gave a sideways glance to Odin. "And I do not give my blessings lightly,"

"Don't feel any different," said Gavroche, looking himself up and down.

"It wouldn't," said Nemain. She clasped her hands together and rubbed them. "Are we going to pay a visit to the armoury? Are we going to call on old Goibhnin?"

"I should think so," said Odin. A smile spread to his face. "And then the _real_ fun starts!"

Njord gave Taliesin a smile.

"What, no song? No epic? First time I've heard you silent before we've gone off into battle,"

"Oh, alright," said Taliesin shrugging. "If it's a poem you want... _'There was a young lady from Tottenham, who…'_"

"On second thoughts maybe not,"

* * *

**Answers to reviews on (previous) Chapter 2  
AmZ:** On the subject of Njord becoming more Javert-like & Odin not becoming any "Valjeanier", I wanted to bring out the rivalry that existed between Njord & Odin back when the Vanir & the Aesir were warring – a little artistic licence has been taken in this though. I kind of had the idea that Njord, being more peaceful, was having problems with controlling Javert's aggressiveness - the fact he was unwilling to use force in order to take possession of Javert doesn't help either. With Odin I felt that he's probably been waiting ages to get one over Njord. Being a naturally more aggressive god he has no trouble in controlling a peaceful Valjean – so to sum up Njord is having trouble suppressing Javert & Odin is being himself... although Valjean might put in an appearance before the end. See how it goes. 

Not to say that Valjean doesn't have an animosity towards Javert – a guy chases you for 12 years you're bound to be a _little_ teed off with him now and again.

You really thought that of the Javert possession bit? Hmm. I think I'm going to have to tweak that slightly.

Referring to the following line;

_"I bet that's not all he carries," said Odin darkly. "At least my wife didn't choose me for my feet,"_

Don't worry about it. Is _doesn't_ mean Javert's well-endowed (although I'll leave that open to debate); it is just a reference to some mythology. Bear with me on this one.

Skadi was daughter of a frost giant. When her father was killed by the gods of Asgard she went to their stronghold to seek compensation. Refusing gold, she demanded a husband. This was agreed, on the condition she chose her husband by looking only at his feet. Several male gods lined up behind a curtain & Skadi chose the cleanest/most shapely feet, thinking they belonged to Balder (Odin's son). Instead it turned out to be Njord. Husband & wife loved each other very much, but as they couldn't stand the conditions in each other's homes they decided to live apart, visiting each other from time to time.

**Kasey Rider:** Personally I favour the side of the Celtic & Norwegian gods – but that doesn't mean they're necessarily going to win this one…


	3. When The Watcher Isn't Watching

**A/N:** Hello, I'm back again! Short, but sinister chapter now – more as a stop-gap than anything else. The plot thickens... or not. I think I'll shut up now.

* * *

Back up in the heavens the excitement was mounting. The teams were preparing, the stage was set and the Battle was not far away. There was an atmosphere of expectation – they hadn't seen something this interesting for centuries (several millennia for some). It reminded them of the Old Days; the glorious Old Days of straightforward heroes & villains when you won fame on the battlefield and opposing armies always marched out to meet each other. Back then you didn't question why you were fighting, you didn't think you were the bad ones, you didn't ever stop to wonder about the orphans and grieving widows you were about to create. Back then swords had names. Yes, it had been glorious. Today wars were fought on paper. Weapons could destroy an entire continent in one go, the days of the great sagas now gone. This was what they had been created for, and everyone had turned out to watch. 

Another thing about the ancient gods was that they loved bending the rules. The sheer satisfaction of seeing the look on your opponent's face when they know you've just as good as cheated was a highlight of their existence. However, some gods went further. Some gods broke the rules.

Retired gods are all very well, as long as they _stay_ retired.

In some distant part of Asgard there had once been a cave, and this cave now existed in a forgotten part of the extra dimension. No one ever spoke of it, no one ever went near. Even in retirement some things are still taboo. Normally this cave would be guarded, but today everyone was watching the progression of the challenge… and if one thing is being watched it means that other things are left to their own devices.

This cave contained a prisoner and had done for many an age, but the magic that had bound him there had weakened over the passing years becoming as redundant as the gods who'd cast the spells. There was no enchantment. There was no watch. The prisoner sensed an opportunity and emerged from his incarceration.

He had heard of the challenge – he had overheard his gaoler… and now everyone was away watching it. The idea of this was unappealing to the prisoner; he found no delight in challenges and battles so primitive that apes could fight them. He would not be watching the events.

And besides, who wants to watch… when you can _play_?

a-

Thénardier was worried. Something was going on and he didn't know about it.

There had been news of a revolution, a student uprising that would have been both short lived and a massacre; but nothing had come. What's more he hadn't heard anything else. Nobody knew what was going on – not even the students who'd been planning the blasted thing! Another thing that worried him was the number of people he simply couldn't find. He hadn't seen 'Zelma or 'Ponine for near on a day now, even his wretched little son had disappeared, and he was _always_ hanging around somewhere! Montparnasse had been found the day before stumbling around in an alley, his eyes somehow gouged out. He wouldn't say who'd done it, wouldn't do anything but whimper softly and cower in a heap with his hands over his ears.

And they weren't the only ones; no one knew where Inspector Javert was. It always paid to know Javert's whereabouts, especially if you were about to do a job. It wasn't as if he was a difficult person to spot – there weren't many 6'5" policemen around – but no one had seen him, no one! He hadn't been back to his rooms and the police had no idea where he could be. If no one knew where Javert was it meant he didn't want to be found, which meant he was plotting something… which meant Thénardier was very worried indeed.

Come to think of it he hadn't seen that revolutionary student who was always handing out pamphlets, the one with the brown hair. Nor had he seen the other one – the one 'Ponine inexplicably liked who looked like a wet blanket caught a mangle. He hadn't seen that old git Valjean either. Connections were being made in his mind and he didn't like the way they were linking together. He didn't like it at all.

"Coincidences are horrible things," said a voice from behind him. "Why, it's almost as if they're related,"

Thénardier whirled round to see a young man standing behind him, slouched against a wall. He was of medium height, dressed in dark shades of green, with bright red hair and a short, scruffy beard. His clothes were a strange and ancient fashion, but that wasn't what put Thénardier on his guard. It was the smile – the kind of smile a spider would give to a fly caught in its web. There were also the dark, pit-like eyes which seemed to say _"Yes, you can't escape, but we're going to play along nicely as if you could. Why? Because I want to play,"_ The young man continued to smile; that unnerving smile which didn't belong to any sane person.

"Funny things, coincidences," he said, straightening up and taking a few sauntering steps towards the crook. "They always happen at the same time. Uncanny really,"

"Who are you?" asked Thénardier sharply. "What do you want?"

The young man pulled a comically sad face… only this person didn't in any way remotely inspire mirth.

"Oh, so soon?" he asked, his voice thick with mock disappointment. "Must we get down to the tiresome nitty-gritty so quickly? I was hoping for some light-hearted conversation between gentlemen with interests in a… _mutual_ line of business,"

"What business?" said Thénardier. The term 'gentleman' had never been applied to his kind, except when the person addressing had very sinister motives. His hand was inching towards the hilt of a knife hidden in his belt. The man's eyes twinkled with malicious merriment and Thénardier internally shuddered.

"A shame," said the young man. "But I can see you are one who does not wish to mix business with pleasure. A shame, but very wise,"

He sauntered across the alleyway in a seemingly random fashion, but Thénardier noticed that he had just manoeuvred between him and the opening into the next street. The spider was spinning the cocoon.

"You would have heard about the expected student uprising," said the young man casually. "But then again, you being the _resourceful_ man you are, I would be surprised if anything escaped your attention. Paris was set for this whole 'revolution'… and then nothing happened. And now no one knows where they stand. People have disappeared – not important people, but it's still a mystery. People's heads are full of questions... man who can answer those questions would have a definite advantage; several secrets that would bring him… considerable benefits,"

"What benefits?" asked Thénardier. "Money?" He realized that he was being inched backwards by the casual, sauntering steps of the young man. The web was tightening; the threads were twisting around his neck. The young man smiled.

"_Considerable_ benefits…" he repeated, his dark, soulless eyes shining. "Benefits that are beyond the lot of mortals to comprehend. Money? Money won't matter any longer; neither will class hierarchy or crime. Everything you see before you will disappear in the fiery wastes of Ragnarok. I'm going to recreate this world in my own image,"

Thénardier was now backed up against the wall. The young man's sauntering steps took him this way and that in what seemed to be some slow, sinister ritual of a hunter after his prey.

"Well," said Thénardier, hastily. "You won't need me for that, will you?"

"Oh no," said the young man, slyly. "You underestimate yourself, my good sir. No, I'll need your associates along with yourself; I have a few friends I need to… _accommodate_. Patron-Minette should be quite sufficient. Take my word, M. Thénardier; the rewards I bestow afterwards will be tremendous,"

"What rewards?" asked Thénardier, his voice shaking with fear.

The young man took a few more sauntering steps forward bringing him within a foot of the crook. Thénardier drew the dagger from out of his belt, but as he did so the young man grinned maliciously.

"Oh I wouldn't want to do that," he said.

The dagger fell from Thénardier's hand obediently, clattering on floor. Loki leaned forward so his nose was almost touching that of the petrified Thénardier. The insane, twisted, depths of his dark eyes gleamed gleefully.

"_Let the games begin!"_


	4. Saville Row Is Never Far Away

**A/N:** A few revisions have been made following reviews on this chapter. I am hoping it all links in a bit better now, and will certainly make the next chapter less random.

It's amazing how you can find the answer to a problem if you read the small print.

P.S. Before we begin, a few armour terms;  
_**Pauldrons** – _for protecting the shoulders  
**_Haute-piece_** – neck guard which the pauldrons can be attached to  
_**Vambrace** – _tubular piece of armour made to protect the forearm  
_**Cuirass** – _a full piece of armour that protects the whole torso, usually made up of breastplate, back-plate, fauld & culet)  
_**Fauld** – _hooped skirt of interlinked lames (strips of metal) protecting the lower abdomen below the breastplate  
**_Culet_** – plate defence below the back-plate

Bear with me on this. Please R&R.

"_The willow sings, she is not proud;  
Her tears do fall, her head is bowed.  
Her sadness bleeds the hearts of men  
Yet to travellers fair she is a friend.  
O willow song throughout the sky,  
We gather now to say goodbye.  
The willow weeps as we depart;  
The Weeping Willow's song."_

There was a short silence.

"Cheerful," said Njord.

"Well sorry!" exclaimed Taliesin, waving his lyre in an exasperated fashion. "You didn't exactly specify! Look, you never complained in the past! Has there been a sudden change in tastes? Have the Glory Days become a subject of mirth? Philistines! I was made immortal for my skills! I played for King Arthur! Canute laid a banquet for me! I –"

"Whoa!" exclaimed Njord. "Calm down, luvvie! I didn't mean to offend,"

"It's nice," said Epona tactfully. "Pretty words to it,"

"Only it doesn't exactly inspire triumph," said Odin bluntly. "Battle songs should traditionally raise the spirit and let noble hearts soar on the wings of victory – even before the attack begins!"

"Not to put too fine a point on it," said Nemain. "But I think you've lost your touch, ducky,"

"Now the songs of the Danes," said Odin reminiscing, more to the air than anyone else in particular. "They were something to remember!"

"What?" asked Njord, leaning up against an anvil. "The one about how 'twas the month of May with dainty nymphs and hammeriads going for a –"

"You know very well it's not that one!" said Epona hotly.

"How did it go now?" mused Njord playfully. "_Now is the month of May-ing when merry lads are –_"

"Do you mind?" said Goibhniu, the smith god, a jeweller's glass in one eye. "I'm trying to concentrate!"

Things were starting to take shape. At the moment the team from Asgard was in Goibhniu's smithy. Normally they themselves wouldn't really bother with armour for anything but decorative purposes; onlythis time it wasliable to getquite messy. Here in the armoury itwas that all the weapons of the Celtic & Norse gods had been stored after humanity decided they weren't needed anymore. The walls were lined with glittering helmets of polished bronze, steely blades of swords, the gleaming shafts of spears, the graceful curves of bows, the gold & bronze details of shields and rows upon rows of armour. Gavroche's jaw had dropped like a stone when he'd first been brought in and for the past hour he'd just been standing amazed, his eyes hungrily taking in the ancient and mighty weapons. Epona was starting to become worried – he was practically drooling.

"Hey," she said, nudging the small gamin. "Wake up! We need to measure you up for a suit of armour,"

"Look at the size of them!" gasped Gavroche.

"It ain't the size, boy," said Nemain, taking a practice swing with a sword. "It's how you use it!"

"Bring him over here," said Goibhniu, taking out a tape measure. He measured Gavroche; chest width, circumference of head, outer arm, inside leg, under arm… Afterwards Goibhniu took a step back and regarded the urchin.

"Has sir any preferences to the style and materials?" he said with the air of a bespoke tailor. "I have steel, silver, copper, bronze, mithril and a new shipment of thunderbolt iron just in. I would imagine sir in a mix of steel and gold; a combination between the classic chain mail and the more modern 'breastplate' look…"

"Just as long as it looks like that!" said Gavroche, pointing excitedly to a massive suit of armour that previously belonged to Thor. Goibhniu looked slightly disgruntled and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

"Very well," he said. "Although sir seems to lack a flare for the original. He will, however, have to excuse a few alterations in order to compensate for his rather short stature. I suggest, ladies," he said, turning to Epona and Nemain. "That someone take the young gentleman and clean yourselves up before the final fitting. And as for you, my lords," he said turning back to Njord, Odin and Taliesin. "I will have to make some alterations to your present suits,"

"I have a suit of armour?" asked Njord, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

"Oh, no you don't do you," said Goibhniu. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together excitedly. "A fresh canvas! Wonderful! It would be a pleasure, sir, after all these years to have a real challenge – especially for one with such a fine physique as your current host possess,"

"What alterations?" asked Odin, annoyed by the attentions laid on his rival.

"Do not take offence, my lord," said Goibhniu. "But M. Valjean's measurement are quite different from your own, therefore I will have to make some considerable alterations if your armour is going to be at all effective,"

He turned back to Njord, an eager smile on his face.

"A suit of armour fit for a king of the gods! Not to mention truly noble weapons. Do you have a preference, sir, for the longbow or the sword? Personally I would say the sword,"

"Sword will do fine," said Njord, somewhat unnerved by the god's eagerness. This person obviously didn't seem to get out much. "Do I have to get measured up?"

"Oh no, my lord," said the smith offhand, flicking through his metal samples, giddy as a schoolboy. "That's just to keep the punters happy; what they expect, you know. A _real_ deity of artisans doesn't need all that paraphernalia. No, a _professional_ needs only sight, a good pair of hammer & tongs and his own visionary genius,"

"Naturally," said Odin, dryly.

Goibhniu began to work busily at the bellows, getting together various pieces of metal and melting them down, working away with his hammer and tongs. Taliesin gave a disapproving sniff.

"Well then," he said, somewhat pertly. "Whilst you all take joy in the barbaric arts of warfare I will go elsewhere to try and create a masterpiece of a battle song. I must find my muse…"

And he walked outside, nose in the air. Odin gave a harsh bark of laughter.

"What a flower!" he exclaimed. "Romanticism!"

"I think it's getting to us all," said Njord pensively, watching the sparks fly from Goibhniu's anvil. "I'm starting to think this wasn't such a good idea,"

"Why?" said Odin, the embodiment of War and therefore not prone to thinking. "Battle is our nature! Anubis was right; this is the perfect way to settle our scores. Ha! I'd like to see the look on Apollo's face when our ranks march out to meet Olympus!"

Things hadn't happened. Njord had been around a long time and was experienced with interfering with pre-ordained things. The story had been changed; they had rushed in not thinking of the consequences. Nothing had come to a head, but he had a feeling, a feeling that sooner or later there would be repercussions…

"But we're not what we used to be," said Njord, quietly. "I don't know about you, but the story is starting to change us. Epona's still fairly herself, but I've never seen Nemain so reserved – she was genuinely concerned for the gamin's welfare, and that's not Nemain!"

"Your nerve failing you?" asked Odin, snidely.

Njord's head snapped round and he glared at Odin severely, a small growl escaping from his throat before he managed to stifle it. He closed his eyes and took a deep, raggedy breath.

"I'm going outside," he said, turning his back on Odin and striding out from the blazing heat into the cool night air. He sighed and sat down on the stone steps, leaning back against a pillar and staring up at the starry sky. It was quiet; a night of peace and for reflection… _deep_ reflection. The silence was overwhelming.

'_There, out in the darkness, a fugitive running…'_

Njord clapped a hand over his mouth and shook his head violently till the urge to sing had gone away. _Repercussions..._ This was getting ridiculous! They'd already had an extract from _'Bring Him Home'_, two verses of _'On My Own'_ and several rousing choruses of _'One Day More'_ – it was starting to get on his nerves… No. Not _his_ nerves.

"_Why does everybody keep on bursting into song?"_ asked Javert, gruffly. _"No one did before you lot came along!"_

_The story had been changed…_

"I don't see what's so bad about it," said Njord. "You have a very nicevoice – you should use it more often,"

"_But normal people don't go around randomly singing!"_ moaned Javert. _"What is wrong with the world? Things are just… just not making sense! Why choose us? Why choose me, a con, two daughters of a crook, a rebel poet and a gamin? What significance do we have? We're nothing important! How can this be right? I don't understand!"_

…_interfering with pre-ordained things…_

"Stop fussing," said Njord irritably. "There are other people in this body apart from yourself – have some consideration,"

"_Excuse me?"_ Javert said disbelievingly. _"If memory serves me correctly I'm supposed to be the only one in here! What's more, you weren't invited!"_

Njord gasped and clutched at his head as a white-hot shot of pain seared through his skull. He sat there for a while trying to steady his breathing, not daring to open his eyes again till the throbbing had gone away. Javert gave a small whimper.

"_Ow,"_

"It hurts you as well?" asked Njord, carefully opening his eyes, trying to compensate for the little flashes of lightning going across his vision.

"_I'm still connected to this body,"_ said Javert gloomily. _"Everything it feels I feel – I was born rather _attached_ to it, remember?"_

"Then why on earth do you do it if it hurts so much?"

"_I've lived through worse,"_

"Indeed? Care to elaborate?"

"_No,"_

"I thought not. For a species that likes to talk so much you say very little, M. Javert,"

There was a very definite long silence. Njord gave a sigh of resignation and looked back up to the stars.

_They had rushed in not thinking of the consequences…_

"Would you call yourself a religious man, M. Javert?"

"_I'm sorry?"_

"Would you say you were in any way religious?"

Javert thought hard – Njord could hear the wheels turning.

"_No,"_ finally came the answer. _"No; to be honest, probably not,"_

"Do you believe in anything?"

"_Isn't that the same as religion?"_

"No," said Njord. "They are quite different things. Belief is when someone thinks and places their trust in something; Religion is the rules people place around it. The latter can be very dangerous,"

There was another moment of silent contemplation.

"_I suppose I believe in Justice_," said Javert. _"I don't so much think of God. I grew up being told to respect the Church and everything, which is right and proper… but I find it hard to put my faith in an institution that so contradicts itself. You see priests preaching the mercy and love of God, the next they turn round and beat a schoolboy for dropping an ink well. People have done too much wrong in the name of God; I should know. No, I just hope there is Justice – somewhere, somehow all this has got to turn out right; it has to,"_

"Justice," mused Njord. "A very powerful deity. I met her once; quite an impressive lady and _very _fair-minded. Yes, I imagine you are a very worthy acolyte,"

"_I am not a…you _met_ her?"_ asked Javert, astounded. _"How is that possible? Justice is a thing, not a person!"_

"Ever seen the lady with the scales and sword?"

"_Yes… but that's just a…"_

"What are we gods but an idea?" said Njord, smiling. "As soon as the idea is forgotten we are forgotten. Justice is imagined, so she is real,"

"_So,"_ murmured Javert, feeling as though he'd finally gone mad. _"There is actually a woman called Justice who judges the eternal cycle of crime and punishment, standing around with a blindfold, a pair of scales and a sword. And somehow I've been unintentionally worshipping her through my entire life,"_

"Not worshipping," said Njord. "Not exactly, anyway. The phrase 'Justice has been served' somehow rings true in that sense. She's got quite a soft spot for your kind,"

"_My kind?"_

"Coppers that is. Yes, a lady to be admired by all; although she does get annoyed with the blindfold at times,"

"_Can't she just take it off?"_

"No, that's how her personification is, so that's how she looks – same for us all. She did get someone to make her a blindfold she could see through, though. We have to play by the rules, like everyone else, but it doesn't mean we can't bend them from time to time,"

"_Is it usually a big problem?"_

"It can be," said Njord, sighing heavily. "I wouldn't really mind; it's just when your daughter goes around in a chariot pulled by cats weeping tears of amber and gold that you start to wonder whether humans are right in the head,"

"_Tell me about it,"_ said Javert, doing the mental equivalent of leaning back and folding his arms. _"I gave up on people a long time ago. After you've had the fifth convict in a day swear blind they didn't hit/stab/strangle the said victim even though you saw them do it you tend to wonder if the world is sane,"_

"I've never understood that either," said Njord. "Also with the changing of ideas so much – one day they believe the earth is flat, the next it's a round globe! Also the thing about going from 4 elements to104?"

"_HOW many?"_

"Oh. Well, it doesn't matter. But in there's other things, such as how come thousands of years ago Rome was founded as a Republic, then everything goes up the Swannie for a millennia and now people are only just coming back to the idea of democracy? I can't help but wonder where it all went wrong,"

"_Beats me," _said Javert. There was a slight pause._ "This might be quite a personal question, but what's it like to be married?"_

Njord started slightly.

"Where did that come from?"

"_Don't know," _said Javert._ "Before, when I would have been going to the Barricade, I was too busy to think about what might happen once I'm there; but now you're in command and I've got nothing to do… I have a good chance of dying sometime soon, I can feel it; and I can't help but wonder what it would have been like if things were… different in some way,"_

"Can't you read my thoughts?" asked Njord, frowning.

"_Theoretically yes," _said Javert, somewhat awkwardly. _"But that would be intruding,"_

"Feel free to take a look," said Njord, shrugging his shoulders. "Nothing special really,"

There was another short silence as Javert took a look inside Njord's mind.

"_Bloody HELL…"_

"You weren't supposed to look too closely at that bit,"

"_Sorry," _said Javert meekly._ "Couldn't help it. Is that really your wife?"_

"Yep," said Njord, with some pride.

"_Seriously?"_

"Yes,"

"_Oh. Ah. How did you get together?"_

"Well, Skadi's father'd been slain by some of the gods from Asgard, so she came and demanded that we give her compensation in the form of a husband. It was agreed, as long as she chose by looking at his feet only. So a lot of us lined up behind a curtain and she chose by looking at our feet; she picked mine, thinking they were Balder's. She wasn't too disappointed. We've had some good times together; well, when we are together. She can't stand the damp and sun of my domain and whenever I go to see her those bloody wolves howling keep me up all night. Noisy buggers – it's also freezing! So how come you never married, M. l'Inspecteur? I would have thought you were the type,"

"_Never given it much thought,"_ said Javert. _"I 'spose it's between not finding the right girl and having my duty to perform. Back in Toulon Bertrand used to say that I could have any girl I wanted,"_

"Why didn't you?"

"_Wasn't interested – they were all the usual wilting flowers. Although, there was one; Manon was her name. She was the governor's housemaid in the prison. She was beautiful and intelligent – we were set to marry inside a year of meeting each other,"_

"What went wrong?"

"_I don't know really,"_ said Javert, non-committed. _"Just didn't work out. She broke off the engagement; handed me the ring back one day – said I would have to choose between my duty and her. I couldn't bring myself to decide, so she decided for me,"_

"You've never thought to find her again?"

"_I keep telling myself I should've gone after her, but what's the point at my age? She's probably married with five darling children and quite happy – what's she need me for? Probably despises me,"_

"You'll never know till you ask,"

"_Can we change the subject please?"_

"Njord?"

Njord looked up to see Nemain (much cleaner) standing over him with a worried expression.

"Yes?" he said, smiling sweetly.

"Fitting time," she said abruptly. "Who were you talking to?"

"Javert," he said, getting up a little stiffly.

"You _talk_ to your host?"

"Why not? Don't you?"

_Things had not happened…_

"We don't have much in common," said Nemain coldly. "Most of the time she just curlsup in a corner and starts weeping,"

When they reached the smithy they found the rest of the team and Goibhniu standing in a circle around what looked like an armoured hobbit – only it was Gavroche, not Meriadoc Brandybuck.

"Look at this!" he said excitedly, taking a swing of his short sword and nearly taking Taliesin's kneecaps off. "This is so brilliant! Bring 'em on!"

"You know, once he's been washed he's quite a sweetie really," said Nemain, this comment coming from the woman who called fire-breathing dragons "cute". Odin and Njord exchanged glances.

"I take it the young gentleman is pleased with the result?" asked the smith.

"Not half!"

Goibhniu sniffed haughtily, a bit put out that anyone should being using armour so roughly, then turned and saw Njord. A smile spread across his face.

"Ah, my lord," he said, beaming. "Your suit is ready, and I must say that it is a masterpiece! If you would care to step behind the screen you will find the necessary undergarments along with a squire to help with the fitting of the cuirass,"

A few minutes later Njord immerged from behind the screen …and the company stared.

"What?" asked Njord nervously.

The company continued to stare.

"WHAT?"

"Good heavens," said Taliesin.

"Good _something!_" exclaimed Odin.

Epona and Nemain just stood there with open mouths. Gavroche had his head tilted to one side. Njord was getting impatient.

"What are you lot staring at?" he asked irritably, folding his arms over his broad chest. "I won't ask nicely again,"

"Perhaps sir would care to step in front of the mirror?" suggested Goibhniu.

Uncertainly, Njord walked over till he stood in front of the mirror. There was a short silence.

"Oh,"

There reflection in front of him was rather interesting. Looking back at him was Javert's fairly shocked face, which was normal enough, but from there downwards it became decidedly unusual. He was wearing a… well, it couldn't really be called a 'suit' of armour; more like a steel cuirass, pauldrons, haute-piece and vambraces mixed with chain mail and several layers of rich blue-green fabric draped in a skirt over a set of tall boots and hose.

"_Oh – mon – Dieu,"_

"Oh come now, inspector," said Njord, getting over the surprise. "It actually looks quite good on you; an improvement I'd say,"

"_I look like a pillock!"_

"By your standards of fashion, yes," said Njord, adjusting the haute-piece.

"What did he say?" asked Odin.

"He said he looks like a pillock,"

"He _so_ does not!" exclaimed Gavroche. "Wow! Inspector, you should wear it all the time! That's so much cooler than that stupid greatcoat!"

_The story had been changed…_

"_Get him out of here!" _fumed Javert._ "Get him out of here before I commit murder!"_

Njord resisted the sudden urge to wring the gamin's neck and merely sneered, turning to the others.

"Who taught him to say 'cool'?"

Everyone exchanged glances, then looked at Taliesin, who shrugged.

"Must be another fan fiction/novel boundary blur – the odd word can creep in now and again,"

_They had rushed in not thinking of the consequences…_

"_What does he mean by 'cool'?"_

"It doesn't matter, inspector,"

"I have taken the liberty of designing in the Elven style," said Goibhniu, taking some steps towards Njord. "Drawing specifically from the Tolkien version, along with something of the Irish _sithiche_ – very popular with the ladies, sir,"

"I don't want to be popular with the ladies – I'm married!" This comment was down to both Javert _and_ Njord.

Ignoring this comment, Goibhniu picked up an object covered with a blue velvet cloth. With a flourish he removed the cloth to reveal a delicate, twining half-circlet of silver.

"What in heaven's name is that?"

"You battle crown, my lord," said Goibhniu, practically radiating ego.

"Battle _crown_?" said Njord, disbelievingly. "Surely you meant helmet?"

"Sir!" exclaimed Goibhniu, as if insulted. "In Elven fashion _no one_ who is _anyone_ wears a helmet on the battlefield. Helmets are for the regular troops – great lords and captains go bear-headed or wear a crown. 'Helmet' – I could die of embarrassment!"

"All the same," said Njord nervously. "I would feel much safer with a helmet…"

"Out of the question!" said the smith abruptly. "This is not just a suit of armour; _this_ is art!"

"He can't wear that!" said Taliesin. "One blow to the head and his skull'l be split down the centre!"

"Then at least he will die dressed like a king!"

Njord wondered whether this was taking the term 'fashion victim' to a new level.

"_I'm going to die, aren't I?"_ said Javert.

…_interfering with pre-ordained things…_

"It would seem so,"

"And here," said Goibhniu, oblivious to anything outside his swelling pride. "The _piece de resistance_ – your sword, Limlug; 'sea serpent',"

Njord regarded the sword. All in all it was almost an exact copy of Glamdring – Gandalf's sword – except when you got down to the finer detail. For its size it felt remarkably light. Two sapphires were set into the crossbar and an inscription in flowing Elven script ran down the blade;

"_Fear me! My name is Limlug;  
Faithful servant to the Master of the Sea"_

Njord raised an eyebrow. This was getting far too serious for his liking.

"Very poetic," he said dryly, re-sheathing the sword and handing it back to Goibhniu. "Would seem a shame to get any blood on it,"

"Indeed," sighed Goibhniu, surveying his handiwork morosely. "But people will insist on using swords to fight with!"

a-

The story had been changed.

a-

Gods may be immortal and so are souls, but bodies aren't and those 'belonging' to Asgard were starting to physically complain. After Epona had almost collapsed from fatigue and Taliesin had somehow managed to tangle himself in his lyre after falling asleep holding it the gods decided it might be wise to surrender to the weaknesses of the flesh (just this once). Plus Gavroche was starting to complain loudly that he was hungry, so after pointing him in the direction of the kitchens the others carried themselves off to various guest rooms.

Njord yawned as he walked down the corridor and pushed the door open to his room, lying down on the bed and staring the ceiling, all of Javert's aching muscles giving a collective sigh. It was a nice to finally lay down. Javert had got up that morning at something around 5 o'clock, so by now his body had been on the go for at least 16-17 hours solid. For a few moments he just lay there staring up at the ceiling and wondering whether he could be bothered or not to undress.

As he was contemplating this question he heard a movement somewhere in the room. He looked to his left and saw a woman standing not far away from him. Her skin was the whiteness of snow and her grey eyes reminiscent of a wintry sky. She wore clothes of wolf skin, a furry hood framing her beautiful face. She lowered the hood and shook loose her snowy hair. She smiled.

"Hello, husband,"

Njord smiled.

"Hello, wife,"

She sat down on the bed and the two exchanged a kiss in greeting.

"So how have you been coping?"

"Not too badly," said Njord, sitting himself up against the pillow. "Though I'm not too comfortable with this whole 'body' thing, I've never felt so… 'compact', if you know what I'm saying. To be confined in one space at one time feels very limiting; it's a good thing I don't have claustrophobia! Not to mention the whole thing about bodily functions, and injuries? They heal so inadequately,"

"_Shut up!"_

"What injuries?" asked Skadi, her perfect brow creasing. "Have you been fighting with Odin?"

"I have been fighting," he said, careful to avoid her eyes. "But they aren't anything to do with that,"

"_Shut up! I know what you're doing; I know what you're up to! You won't get me in a confessional!"_

"I already know, Inspector," said Njord, calmly.

There was a long silence.

"_You do?"_

"Yes,"

"Let me see," said Skadi. "I might be able to help,"

Njord made to remove his shirt, but was stopped short by a desperate cry from Javert.

"_No! No, I forbid you! I'll make us have another headache, and this time it'll be a migraine!"_

"You have to show someone sometime," said Njord quietly. He undid the shirt and slipped it off over his head, revealing Javert's bare torso. Skadi let out a little gasp of surprise. Javert's back was covered with the long white scars of a lash – a lash that had been applied, by the looks of it, hundreds of times. There was a crude fleur-de-lys along with the number '2736' burned into the skin of his upper left arm.

"A brand?" said Skadi, touching the fleur-de-lys with puzzled fingers. "Whip scars? But he was not a convict,"

Inside his head Njord could hear Javert silently weeping.

"They were from when he first became a prison guard," said Njord placidly. "Having known his parentage the others weren't exactly kind to him. 2736 was his service number,"

"_Alright now, you've said it," _said Javert through bitter tears. There was so much anger, so much venom and hatred in his voice that it was reduced to a hoarse whisper. "_Have you had enough of ridiculing me? Had a good laugh – laughed like they did when they did this to me?"_

"I'm not laughing,"

Meanwhile Skadi ran her fingers gently over the scars. As she did so Javert's body shuddered in discomfort.

"Do they hurt him?" she asked quietly.

"_They called me "Gypsy", called me a thief. They beat me and told me to tell their fortunes, told me I should remember where I came from. They laughed; they laughed all the time,"_

"Yes; but more in memory than physically,"

"Do you want me to heal them?" she asked gently.

The question was not for him, so Njord waited for the reply. There was a very, _very_, _very_ long pause.

"_Yes," _The voice seemed to choke. _"Yes. Please,"_

Njord couldn't bring himself to speak; he merely nodded. Skadi leant forward and placed a gentle, but firm kiss over the longest and deepest scar. Human reaction caused him let out a small gasp. Very slowly her hands moved over his back, taking in every scar, every sore and wound… and slowly they began to fade; disappearing and giving way to fresh, unblemished skin.

"The brands I cannot deal with," she said softly. "There are some things that cannot be undone,"

There was a long silence.

"_Thank you," _said Javert._ "I will not forget this. I will leave you together now. Goodnight,"_

"You are going?" asked Njord.

"_Yes," _said Javert quietly._ "I'm tired. I want to sleep… plus you are a married couple and it's not my business to know or see anything that I should not see. You have done this for me; the least I can do is grant you privacy,"_

"But surely you will feel? You said that anything the body experiences you will experience as well,"

"_Probably, but it will be a dream; as are all things that night brings. I would prefer to dream than know the reality,"_

"I understand," said Njord. "Goodnight, inspector,"

"_Goodnight,"_

And with that he was alone. Njord had grown used to the sharing of consciousness with Javert, who although had been the passive in his own shell for the last few days had been far from the unconscious. Now he was gone; he was really alone and completely in charge of his body. The amount of trust amazed Njord, even humbled him. Skadi's eyes rested on her husband's spine.

"Is he sleeping?"

"Yes," he said. "Yes, he is,"

"Then come," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder and rubbing it affectionately. "Let us give him a pleasant dream,"

Njord turned to look at his wife, a smile coming to his lips. Gently he reached out and removed her fur mantle from around her shoulders revealing her soft, luminescently pale skin. For a moment Njord just sat there admiring her beauty, then his hands moved tenderly down to around her waist, he pulled her into a close embrace and they kissed… for what seemed like forever.

Let's face it; gods have a lot of time on their hands.


	5. Stories Are Made To Be Told

**A/N:** Sort, but precise. Let the games begin.

P.S. Updates have been made to Chapter 4. If you haven't looked already, please do.

* * *

Stories are part of reality. Stories are important. Everyone knows a story, whether it be about magical kingdoms, what happened down the pub last night, ghostly tales, that of a loved one now departed, or of someone's life… we are all part of stories. People can be inspired by a story because their lives are nothing but an ongoing story.

Stories are written to be told, and stories _must_ be told. It doesn't matter what the story is about, it doesn't matter who is in it; a story is a story. But if a story is not told it waits and waits till it's time has come, for a story _must_ be told.

This story's time had come. It had been told over and over again and now once more it was being recited… but something had gone wrong. The story had stopped; someone had stopped it. The story had been invaded by other things, things akin to parasites and a new story was growing inside, like a cancer, poisoning and killing the old. _The story must be told…_ The story was panicking, it was being suffocated. Its organs had been torn out and taken some other place, taken away to be grafted into some other story. _The story _must _be told…_ The universe that had twined around it twisted out of shape; threads unravelled, lives were being changed. _The story _must_ be told!_

The story screamed, its anger filling the air. It WOULD be told! It MUST be told! It didn't matter who was in it, it didn't matter who they were; it had lasted this long and it _would_ – _not –_ _DIE!_

a-

Courfeyrac was getting restless. Enjolras had gone, Marius too; so had Jehan, Combeferre, Joly and Grantaire… people had disappeared. General Lamarque was to have been buried yesterday, but there was no sign of a revolution and the authorities had halted the proceedings until they knew where they stood. The Amis had called together an emergency meeting of the ABCs and now Courfeyrac was pacing up and down the floor of the café, all eyes resting on him.

"It's a conspiracy," said Bahorel quietly. "Courfeyrac, it must be! We've always known the authorities were watching us; they must have been arrested, taken off to the Conciergerie to be dealt with. They're onto us, and they're waiting for us to make the next move,"

"We can't stand by and just let them pick us off one by one!" exclaimed Feuilly. "The People need us! We can't let them bury Lamarque without a fight, and we can't let ourselves be scared because one or two of us have 'mysteriously' disappeared!"

"One or two!" said another, disbelievingly. "I don't call six one or two!"

"The number is insignificant!" snapped Feuilly. "What matters is that we will keep fighting even though they may come to take us all! Our lives don't matter; it's the People that matter!"

_The People. Yes, the People._

Courfeyrac looked up.

"We can't do anything for the others," he said, solemnly. "As far as we're concerned they are out of the picture. Take them as… casualties of war. Right now we cannot let this injustice continue any longer. There will _be_ a revolution! We _will_ build our barricades! And we will send those white-arsed dogs howling before we are through with them! _Vive la Republique!_"

A chorus of cheers went up from the students. The People took to the streets. The barricades were raised.

The story picked up from where it had left off.

Anubis clapped his hands together and rubbed them happily.

"Right!" he said. "Today's the day, and let the games begin! Odin & Njord trying to fight on the same side? Oh, I'm gonna enjoy this!"

"Thank heavens we finally got them to sort it out!" exclaimed Sekhemet. "All that rowing was doing my head in. If they hadn't stopped soon I would have put my claws into someone!"

"And it is all thanks to you," said Aglibol to Anubis. "Without your idea I don't know what we would have done,"

Watching Anubis soaking up praise from the rest of the deities like a sponge Thoth sighed and shook his head. Some people. Still, as long as they were happy… He had to admit that it was a lot more peaceful up here now that everybody was either occupied in preparing for or watching the Challenge.

Sitting back in his armchair he picked up his copy of _"Pride & Prejudice"_ and opened it where he had left his bookmark. That was one thing that had never bothered him. Other deities who were associated with farming or warfare eventually became redundant - agricultural industry dwindled, people changed the way they fought wars; but being a god of wisdom and learning was never a dull moment. Humanity was always learning, and there was an endless supply of books. He liked books. You knew where you were with books. Books never changed.

For whatever reason Thoth looked down at the pile of books Anubis had borrowed off him to establish the pitch for the Challenge. _"Les Misérables"_ lay on the top. It was a cheap paperback edition, well loved and dog-eared having been read many times over the past two centuries (As I said, gods have a _lot_ of time on their hands). He leant down and picked up the book, feeling the comforting weight of a good read in his hands. He flicked through the pages and opened at a random chapter.

He looked at the page.

He blinked.

He looked again.

He stared.

"Um, Anubis," he said, a troubled look on his face. "I think you should look at this,"

"At what?" asked the jackal-headed god, turning away from his adoring crowd. "Oh, that! But we don't need to bother with book anymore; we've established the pitch - all we need to do is review the rules and start playing,"

"No, Anubis," said Thoth earnestly, getting up and handing him the hefty paperback. "I think you should see this. I _really_ think you should see this!"


	6. Fractures In The Mirror

**A/N:** Hullo! Here be-eth the next chapter – it's kind of like drawing teeth at the moment. R&R- dunno how this one'll read.

* * *

Morning came soon in this part of the universe. It always did. Morning brought the light of hope and the future – a world of Tomorrows which lay open to promise as much as disaster; but before there was Tomorrow (and _certainly_ before there was Today) there was always Morning. Even before that there was Dawn.

Odin, regaled in full (adjusted) armour, rapped on the door of the bed chamber with Gungnir impatiently. When he got no answer he pushed open the door and stepped into the room, hands on hips. Lying in the bed beneath the sheets were the naked forms of Skadi and Inspector Javert; both sound asleep. Skadi, her flawless snow-white skin seeming to radiate a soft, luminescent beauty, had her head on Javert's shoulder, one hand resting on his broad, smooth chest. Javert in turn had one arm around Skadi, his long, loose steely hair scattered over the pillows.

Odin gave a wry smile. At the back of his consciousness Valjean shuddered with embarrassment and tried to avert his eyes – unsuccessfully.

"Never thought you'd live to see the day, did you?" said Odin with a quiet playfulness.

"_No. We should leave,"_

"Why?"

"_It's… indecent,"_

"Oh, _indecency_," said Odin softly. "You sure it's not impure thoughts?"

"_You know perfectly well it isn't!"_ said Valjean, hotly. _"You're always probing, always trying to find wounds! Why can't you just leave them? It's not right!"_

"Your entire culture is ruled too much by 'indecency'," said Odin. He walked up to the bedside and tapped the male specimen on the shoulder with the end of the spear shaft. Njord slowly opened one eye and looked at Odin warily.

"Good morning," Odin said sweetly. "Am I addressing His Majesty King Njord of the Vanir or Inspector Javert?"

"Very funny," said Njord, sitting up carefully and stretching. "What time is it?"

"Time you were up and _en vêtements_; we meet Olympus on the battlefield in an hour,"

"Quietly though," said Njord, slipping out of bed and reaching for a pair of trousers. Valjean was wishing he'd reached for the trousers first. "Javert is still asleep and I don't want to wake him yet. He is in need of rest, and I for one have not the heart to deny him,"

As he moved Skadi gave a small sigh and snuggled up tighter to the pillow. Njord bent down and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. Putting on the trousers and pulling on a shirt he followed Odin out of the bed chamber and along the corridor towards the armoury.

"If I'd known it was married quarters I'd have brought Frigg," said Odin, smirking.

"Skadi came of her own free will," said Njord, shrugging his shoulders. "No one said we couldn't see each other before the battle,"

Odin gave Njord a sideways glance. This calm was starting to unnerve him – he'd grown use to a Njord who was quick to anger and struggling with chronic schizophrenia. Still he persisted, firing another shot.

"And you let Javert sleep with her?" He laughed. "First it's Balder she's after, now it's Javert! You really do pick your moments, don't you? Let's face it, when did she ever come to you without prior arrangement before? She didn't want you in the first place – you're only deceiving yourself if you think she loves you!"

Njord stopped and slowly turned to look at Odin. The expression in those gypsy eyes was so calm, so pitying, so un-Javert-like that it made him shudder.

"It really is just you in there," mumbled Odin.

"Yes; so I'd leave it at that if I were you, before you disgrace yourself,"

They walked on in silence for a few more minutes, Odin feeling thoroughly ashamed and wondering whether he should apologize, but he never got the chance asNjord suddenly heard something like a gasp inside his head.

"Inspector?" he asked. "Is that you? If so, good morning. Did you sleep well?"

_"Oh God, oh God!"_

"What is it? What's wrong?"

_"Last night,"_ whispered Javert. He sounded as if he were in a state of shock. _"Last night… I, I dreamed…"_

"Oh, that's alright then," said Njord, smiling. "Did you enjoy it?"

_"No, not that!"_ exclaimed Javert, slightly distraught. _"I dreamed… I dreamed that I was not dead!"_

Njord frowned.

"Quite usual that," he said, carefully. "I mean _lots_ of people go around all the time not being dead –"

_"No! It was, it was like I was meant to be dead, but I wasn't dead!"_ said Javert. _"Something was supposed to have happened, but it didn't,"_

Njord got the distinct feeling of his guts turning to ice. He turned to Odin.

"What's the date today?"

"7th July," said Odin, frowning. "And if you remember correctly we're supposed to be meeting Olympus down in the streets of Paris to be fighting a battle that will once and for all decide the supremity of our cultures! Or have you been so wrapped up in the world of the flesh that you've forgotten?"

Much to Odin's annoyance, Njord was not listening. Javert had broken down last night, Javert had just wanted to sleep and let the world drift away, Javert should have died… but he hadn't. That was not the Story.

"What else did you dream, inspector?"

_"Everything,"_ he said. _"Everything was… different. It was Paris and all but it didn't feel right; I swear! It was... like living in a nightmare!"_

"How wasn't it right?"

_"I… I don't know if I can describe it,"_

"Show me then,"

There was a short silence as Njord delved into Javert's mind.

"What?" asked Odin, impatiently. "What's he playing at?"

"I don't know," said Njord, a puzzled frown forming on his face. "It's… something…"

His eyes widened and his head snapped up sharply. His face had gone white.

"We need to get back down there," he said. "Something's happening; things have changed!"

He broke into a fast sprint, his long legs carrying him down the corridor at an alarming rate.

"Wait!" Odin ran after him, having trouble keeping up. "What are you on about? What's changed?"

"Things!" Njord called back. "Things!"

They arrived at the armoury, bursting through the doors and startling the others who were just getting into their armour.

"What is it?" asked Nemain. "Where's the fire?"

"We've got to get moving!" said Njord, speaking between enormous gasps for air. "We've got to get down there – now!"

Epona exchanged glances with Gavroche.

"But, the armour –"

"FOR GOD'S SAKE LEAVE THE BLOODY ARMOUR!" Njord screamed, his eyes blazing, his face terrible. "Get moving!"

Everyone was too unsettled to argue. A few moments later they were all back down in the streets of Paris, rather confused and in various states of being dressed for warfare.

"So what now?" asked Taliesin.

Njord looked around wildly, Javert's steely hair flying in all directions, then he took to his heels and headed of down a side street. The rest of Asgard raced along in pursuit of him, Taliesin lifting Gavroche onto his back in order to keep up. They had been running for about five minutes when they had to apply the brakes. If they hadn't they would have crashed into Njord, who'd stopped at the mouth of the alley.

"What," said Odin, bent double with the effort of trying to get breath back into Valjean's lungs. "Is – _going_ – _ON!_"

Njord said nothing, but merely pointed. They all turned to look at the street ahead – or a least looked where they could manage to see through the powder smoke.

"So?" said Nemain. "It's the barricade. What's wrong with that? It's supposed to happen, isn't it?"

"No, wait a minute," said Taliesin, stepping forward to take a closer look. His voice held an unusually low and serious tone. "Olympus have got the students. How can there be a barricade?"

"Someone mention our names?"

The forms of Enjolras, Joly, Grantaire (holding a wine bottle), Combeferre and Cosette had appeared behind the team from Asgard whilst they were engrossed in watching the action. They were all regaled in splendid classical armour; so new, highly polished and beautiful that they caught the morning sun and dazzled like a heavenly host. With them was a sixth figure. Epona gasped, eyes wide open in shock.

"Marius!"

It was indeed Marius, slightly dreamy-eyed and unsteadily holding what looked like a cross-bow.

"Marius?" spat Nemain. "You chose _Marius_ as your champion? He couldn't fight his way out of a wet paper bag!"

"No one said the champion had to be any good at fighting," said Venus, coyly.

"Cosette!" Odin looked as if he were about to faint. "You're not going to take Cosette away from me! How could you? How dare you!"

"As if we didn't think of that?" said Zeus, smugly.

"But you can't! She's innocent!"

"Not any more," sniggered Bacchus.

It could be seen to dawn on Odin's face as he realised what had just been said.

"She _what?_ When? Who with? I'll kill him!"

Marius, seeming to wake up from his daze momentarily, started to slink away, but unfortunately caught Odin & Valjean's eye.

"Treat my daughter like a slut?" he exclaimed. "I'll murder you!"

Taliesin and Njord leapt forward and grabbed Odin round the waist and shoulders – it was all they could do to restrain the old con overbearing the god and strangling the young revolutionary.

"Stay where you are, Marius dear," said Venus, soft and commandingly. "You're going to stay here and fight for us, aren't you? Even though you're probably going to get killed,"

"Yes, Cosette,"

"Enough of this!" cried Njord, flinging his adversary back against the wall. "Odin, you've kept control this long – don't loose it now! Venus, let the boy go; he's not a warrior! Apollo, please, you must understand me; we can't fight the Battle,"

"I should think not in that get-up," said Apollo, casting a disgusted look over Javert's body. "I've never known a shirt and trousers to stop a blade,"

"No!" said Epona, who's attention had turned back to the barricade. "He means it! We can't fight – not now, not ever! He's right; we have to stop. Look!"

She pointed to the Barricade. Apollo squinted.

"The revolution. So?"

"But Enjolras is the leader of the revolution," said Taliesin quietly. "If Enjolras is here being occupied by you, and not there leading them…"

Courfeyrac could be seen standing astride the pinnacle of the barricade waving the flag. A few minutes later, after the next hail of gunfire, Bahorel could be seen holding a torch in one hand and a keg of gunpowder in the other.

"Clear out or I'll blow up the whole place!"

The words carried across the street to where the deities were standing out of sight.

"That's not supposed to be him," said Asclepius softly. "Bahorel didn't do that – there was no way he would be so stupid or rash! That's Marius' job,"

"They're being re-written," said Zeus, looking out at the barricade. "The characters are changing,"

The fighting continued. Suddenly there was the sound of a musket shot and a girl took a bullet for Bahorel. She fell to the ground, blood soaking through her chemise and spreading in a very large pool around her. The wine bottle dropped out of Bacchus' hand.

"That was Sophie," gasped Bacchus. "The fishmonger's daughter! But, she shouldn't… I – I mean _Grantaire_ saw her every day!"

"That should have been Eponine," whispered Epona. "This isn't right!"

"But what's gone wrong?" demanded Zeus. "Why's this happening?"

"The story needs to be told," said Taliesin, darkly. "And now it's telling itself,"

Time went on. They watched the events of the barricade unfold. An old man arrived and retrieved a mattress to stop bullets. Later there was the sound of a pistol shot and the old man came back into view.

"It's done,"

Njord turned pale.

"That should have been Javert," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "And now some other poor sod's going to be driven mad and commit suicide. It should be Javert and Valjean, but it's not,"

"It's amazing what things can happen if you take your eye off the ball,"

The voice had come from a figure slouched against the alley wall, half in shadow. Most of the assembled company didn't need to see his face though. Njord's eyes narrowed.

"Get out of here, Thénardier," he said icily. "Get out of here now or face the consequences. You don't want to be here; trust me,"

"Don't I?" Thénardier asked innocently, a mocking tone. "Oh, but I'd miss the fun if I went away! Don't you agree… _M. l'Inspecteur?_ By the way, you're hair looks nice down – you should do it more often,"

There was something in the voice, something not right. Everyone heard it. Everyone knew it was wrong.

"You heard him, papa," said Epona, cautiously. "You don't want to be here. You should go,"

Thénardier stood up and languidly stepped out into the light. He grinned maliciously, a grin that didn't belong to any sane person. His dark eyes glittered maliciously… which was wrong; Thénardier's were not that dark – no one's were. No one mortal. No one except… Odin drew in a fearful breath.

"Loki!"

Gavroche looked around at the cautious and fearful expressions on the faces of the gods.

"What?" he asked, worriedly. "What's wrong? It's only me dad!"

"Trust me, sweetheart," said Nemain quietly, manoeuvring the gamin behind her skirts in a protective way. "It's not,"

The god of fire laughed lightly.

"Oh, how nice of you to remember me, Odin!" he said. His eyes flashed with dark merriment. "After all these years – I thought you might have forgotten! Did you miss me?"

"How did you get out of the cave?" asked Zeus aggressively, taking a step forward. "How did you escape?"

"Oh please, don't insult my intelligence!" said Loki disdainfully. "Did you think that could hold me forever? A kid could get out of there blindfolded! No, as you can see I'm footloose and fancy free…"

Here the smiled widened.

"…and I've come to play,"

The assembled company of gods could be seen to take a slight step back.

"Play?" said Bacchus meekly. "But you can't play, there's… there's one, two, three… eleven… twenty of us already!"

"Divide by two to compensate for the double vision," said Apollo, trying to sound assertive. "There are ten of us. We're playing Five-a-Side – there's just not enough places!"

"Oh, we won't let a little thing like that spoil the fun, will we?" said Loki. The smile had a life of its own. "Who said I was playing by _your_ rules? Who said I was using rules?" He sauntered closer, hands deep in his pockets, those soulless eyes not leaving the assembled company. "I'm going to play my own game,"

"Own game?"

From out of the shadows behind Loki emerged the figures of Patron-Minette – Babet, Brujon, Claquesous, Panchaud, Guelemer… but they didn'tmove as human beings did. They crawled, lumbered, crept; they snarled, growled and clawed their hands on the cobbles and against the walls. Saliva hung in ropes from their mouths, and their eyes held the hate of beasts. Suddenly to the right of the gods there appeared a monstrous wolf – its eyes red, its fangs sharp and terrifying. The gods of Asgard remembered its name well; Fenrir - demon of the underworld, the devouring wolf.

The ground shook. Out in the streets where the Barricade stood there came frantic shouts and screams. They turned and saw soldiers and students alike running for their lives – they saw Bahorel shoot at something emerging from a side street. They saw a flash of gigantic jaws, they heard his scream… then there was no more Bahorel. A great, glistening green serpent slithered out of the Rue de la Chanvrerie, through the debris and blooded bodies. It was so large that its scaly sides scraped against the brickwork of the buildings. He was Jormungand – the World Serpent. People were fleeing; the streets were filling with those who had not dared to emerge during the Revolution now running for their lives. Courfeyrac could be seen to stumble with the red flag, in a somewhat drunken state – they did not know he'd been hit on the head by fallen masonry. He looked at the serpent with something akin to confused defiance. Nemain could be seen to go deathly pale.

"No!" she whispered. "No, you stupid boy! Get out of there! Don't do it!"

"Idiot!" hissed Apollo. "You can't fight with a flag! What does he think he's doing?"

Courfeyrac screamed something at Jormungand, then waved the flag rebelliously. Unimpressed, the snake reared its cruel head.

"I can't watch!" squeaked Nemain. She grabbed Njord by the shirt and hid her face in his chest.

"Odin!" screamed Venus. "You have Gungnir! Throw it at the creature! Kill it! You cannot miss!"

Odin regarded the spear shaft with a mixture of horror, sorrow and fear. He hung his head and shook it slowly. Loki grinned triumphantly.

"He cannot," he said smoothly. "He knows it is useless. He knows he will die – as will you all. It is pre-ordained – it is written – for this is the End,"

The gods clustered together, back to back, what little weapons they had poised and ready – but held in shaking hands. The serpent hissed, the wolf snapped and growled, the demons in Patron-Minette roared and clawed impatiently at masonry. Odin turned pale, Venus gasped, Nemain broke down into tears; Apollo cursed, Bacchus was praying, Njord cast a distracted glance to the Heavens. Inside their heads the host consciousnesses were screaming to be let out, to take control and escape the Norse Armageddon.Loki laughed, his manic grin spreading from ear to ear, the dark malice of his eyes sucking the courage from those who faced him.

"Yes, my lords, my ladies; welcome to Ragnarok!"

a-

Anubis looked at the text and frowned. He flicked through the book from page to page. There was not a mention of Enjolras, not a scrap of writing about Grantaire, not a dickey-bird about Eponine, Azelma or Cosette and not a single page or chapter detailing Jean Valjean or Javert. Even Marius was gone.

"The writing's the same," he said. "But the names have changed. Even that rubbish section about Waterloo's still in there!"

"Exactly," said Thoth.

"But what's happened?" asked Anubis, scanning the section about the policeman Bernon being released by the convict David Darque. "What's caused the change?"

"Us," said Thoth, gravely. He took a deep breath. "When our teams went down and took possession of the characters they completely removed them from the story; but time didn't stand still. Time continued but the Story could not – it's like running a marathon and suddenly finding you've had your legs surgically removed. But the Story's kept on going; it has to. To do that it's pulled all these people out of the world it exists in to try and patch itself up,"

"But Fantine's still in here!" said Anubis, flicking back to Montreuil-Sur-Mer. "And Tholomyès! How can they not have had Cosette?"

"Things have been changed," said Thoth. "The Story doesn't care. It will have manipulated those people – they aren't the characters, but they think they are. The Story doesn't care if it's using its arms to run the race _as long as it's running!_ It's like a wound that's been infected and is trying to heal itself. My guess is that now it's got the replacement characters it will endeavour to crush any excess matter in the wound – the people our friends are occupying will shortly cease to exist,"

"But what does that matter?" cried Anubis, fairly exasperated. "The Story's working; it's just another load of characters! They're fictional, what do they matter?"

Thoth looked him very, _very_ steadily in the eyes.

"Everywhere in the universe there is a place where a story is real," he said quietly. "And in that world we have _real_ people who suddenly think they are someone else and _real_ people who are no longer attached to any kind of reality. Reality cannot stand that kind of onslaught – chances are when it tries to heal itself the Story and everyone in it may not survive,"

"So," said Anubis, closing the book worriedly. "What do we do?"

"We were created to protect humanity," said Thoth. "But whenhumanityis beyond salvationwe have to fend for ourselves. There's only one thing we can do,"

"What?"

"Save them,"


	7. Who Said This Was Ragnarok?

**A/N:** Don't worry, I'm nearly done. At most there's another two chapters to come after this – I just beg you to have patience and not to go insane before I do. Onto this chapter – let the madness ensue _(evil cackle)_! _PLEASE_ R&R – I know some of you are still reading (amazingly); constructive criticism is welcome! Lord knows I need it! There is a high concentration of insanity in this chapter and I _need_ to know whether I've got it right or not. I'd hate to spoil things now.

P.S. Some of this chapter is based on the general theory that most Enjolras or Javert fangirls are also infatuated by "The Phantom of the Opera" &/or "The Scarlet Pimpernel". Crazy, but in my world it works.

P.P.S. I know fangirls are real, but they often turn up in fan fiction in hoards – so that's my excuse. Take it or leave it.

P.P.P.S. I've attempted to sober this up a bit, but also chucked in a balrog for good measure. Dunno how that works – just hope it does.

P.P.P.P.S. I'll go away now.

* * *

"You what?" Zeus looked at Loki angrily and growled. "Ragnarok? You can't be serious!"

"Oh but I am, my friends," said Loki. The evil grin would have made Satan proud. "I have been kept in that prison for too long, and now I am free it is time to fulfil the prophecy! I have returned – Ragnarok has come!"

Fenrir snarled and growled, his eyes burning and long, terrible fangs bared. Gavroche pulled at Epona's skirt.

"What's Ragnarok?"

"The last Great Battle," said Epona, distractedly keeping an eye on the wolf whilst moving to consul Nemain. "Between the gods and the forces of Darkness; the End of the World as we know it. It was to be fought on the Vigrid Plain – a time in which all the Nine Worlds shall be set ablaze. Not many of us gods are destined to survive, and only two mortals shall make it into the next Age. All of us here will die,"

She turned to look down at the gamin, tears welling in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry that we brought this upon you,"

Gavroche, however, did not register her last words. His brow creased slightly as he thought something over.

"Where is the Vigrid Plain?" he asked.

Epona was about to reply when she suddenly stopped. Much to the gamin's surprise a smile was slowly forming on her face. Odin looked at her and started.

"What are you so happy about?" he asked angrily. "How can you be smiling at a time like this?"

"What's so bad about it?" Epona asked simply.

Venus stared in disbelief.

"She's mad," she said. "She's finally gone potty! Don't you understand? This is _it_ – this is the End!"

"No," said Epona, the smile on her lips widening. "It's not. This isn't the Vigrid Plain,"

There were some confused looks all round, but it could be seen to dawn on a few faces what this meant.

"No," said Asclepius. "It's not, is it?"

"What does it matter what bloody place this is?" snapped Odin – his nerves were being torn to shreds. "It's Ragnarok!"

"No, it's not," said Taliesin softly. "The prophecy states that Ragnarok shall take place on the Vigrid Plain… but this is Paris,"

"What are you talking about?" asked Loki hotly, annoyed that his monopoly on their attention was slipping. "Why are you all smiling? You're about to be annihilated! You will die and there will be no return; no afterlife, no hope of consciousness or salvation!"

"No we're not," said Zeus calmly, taking a step forward, courage returning. "For this to be Ragnarok the Battle has to take place on the Vigrid Plain,"

"The Vigrid Plain ceased to exist after we became redundant," said Nemain, wiping away any remaining tears that had lingered on her cheeks. Her expression was once again becoming bloodthirsty. "Along with Asgard and all our mythical realms. No Vigrid Plain – no Ragnarok,"

"Hard luck,"

The fact seemed to click into place with those gods who had not yet caught up. All eyes and a sea of fiendish grins turned to Loki – who was fast loosing his nerve.

"Now come on!" he snapped defiantly. "You expect a thing like the End of the World to be stopped by a simple change of venue?"

"Then where is Hel?" asked Venus, coyly. "Where is she and her Army of the Damned? If this is Ragnarok she should be here by now,"

There was a very tense silence. For once Loki didn't have a comeback – and that was a measure of how much trouble he was in.

"Fenrir!" he roared to the wolf. "Get them! Devour their flesh!"

The gigantic wolf snarled fearsomely and made to jump at the host of gods, but Odin raised his spear high above his head and gave a triumphant roar.

"Feast on _me_, would you?" he exclaimed, his eyes burning with fire, a harsh laugh escaping from his throat. "Not anymore, you overgrown poodle!"

With a mighty war cry and expert aim he hurled Gungnir at the monstrous wolf. True to its enchanted nature, the spear flew straight and with deadly accuracy pierced the beast's throat. Blood and foam flew, and Fenrir was dead.

"_Now_ tell me that this is Ragnarok!" Odin crowed.

Emboldened by the slaying of the monster, the rest of the gods let out a cheer. With outstretched arms those without weapons used their powers to summon them to their sides. As one united force both Classical and Teutonic gods advanced to obliterate the Root of Evil, all thought of distrust or resentment between their cultures gone.

A look of panic had spread to Loki's face. The grin was now gone; obliterated. Dead. He and the demons began to back away down the alley, looking for a way to escape – even Jormungand was looking a little worried. Apollo raised his fiery sword, the zeal of battle glowing in his eyes.

"Prepare to face the judgement of the gods!" he cried, and was about to bring the blade crashing down… when suddenly out of nowhere two small curly haired creatures with large, hairy feet rushed through the gap between the opposing forces.

"They're right behind us, Merry!"

"I know they are, Pippin – run!"

…and then they were gone.

What ensued afterwards could only be described as something akin to a freeze-frame. For a moment in time both gods, demons and human consciousness were completely suspended in a moment of pure and unadulterated disbelief. Then it was over.

"Hey," said Bacchus, a little unsteadily. "Was it just me, or did two hobbits run through there a moment ago?"

"Yes, they did," said Asclepius, still a little stunned.

"Oh. I hoped it was just me,"

Apollo frowned in puzzled anger, unsure of what had just happened and displeased that his triumphant moment had been interrupted; but as he went to raise his sword again he stopped.

There was the slightest, slightest tremor in the ground. The tremor became a rumble, the rumble became a thundering and pieces of debris began to move as they would just before the arrival of a stampede. And then there came a gigantic, hormonally driven scream – the sound building up and washing forward like a colossal tidal wave. Njord & Apollo (who had been standing next to each other) slowly turned to look behind them… and their features contorted into looks of terror. Before them was a huge, seething mass of Javert & Enjolras fangirls. The two deities clutched each other in fear.

"How did they get through?" whispered Njord, terrified. "Where did they come from?"

They looked at Loki, who looked back in surprise.

"They're not mine!" he exclaimed. "I swear!"

"Things have changed," said Taliesin, gulping, taking a step back. "Events have been twisted, and now the barriers are almost fallen – the wound is being invaded by fiction!"

"Oh thank you, Mr. Literary Expert!" exclaimed Njord, quaking at the knees. "Now how about telling us how we can send them back!"

"Run!" whispered Apollo, desperately trying to get Enjolras' legs to move. "For pity's sake, run! You're too young to be eaten alive!"

The gods cowered at the sight of the adolescent army – this was worse than any apocalypse! Nemain gripped her dagger between her teeth.

"Get ready to fight to the death," she whispered. "On my signal… unleash Hell!"

"Excuse me?" said Zeus. "Since when has this been 'Gladiator'?"

At that point a random tiger with a steel collar around its neck wandered into view, rather befuddled. Trailing along the ground after it on the end of a chain was a Roman arena steward, a very frightened expression on his face. Jormungand (who had decided the confusion was becoming too much) came to the conclusion that his time would be better spent finding something to eat, and promptly slithered off in pursuit of the tiger and its 'owner'. Left behind were the tattered remains of the red flag on the cobblestones; a sad reminder of the now departed Courfeyrac.

Another Mexican-Wave-of-a-scream issued forth from the mob and they began to converge, as one, on the unfortunate gods occupying the bodies of the Inspector and the Revolutionary – but suddenly there was a flash and a clap of thunder, the air _moved_… and there stood the Phantom of the Opera and Sir Percival Blakeney.

"_Insolent boys! These slaves of fashion basking in my glory!..."_

The scream that followed could not be measured in decibels. The Phantom and Sir Percy took to their heels, the fangirls following like rats after the Piper. The other gods stood astounded.

"It's ok!" the Phantom called. "We've got them on our tail!"

"You what…? Who is that?"

"'Tis I – the Wonder Jackal!" Anubis cried cheerfully. "Old Bird-Brain and myself! We thought you could use a hand! Only we did a bit of shape-shifting instead of borrowing!"

"This way, ladies!" shouted Thoth aka Sir Percy. "This way to catch the Scarlet Pimpernel!"

"That's it, keep coming! _'I'm here, the Phantom of the Opera!...'_"

And with that, running very quickly, the two Egyptian deities led the entire pack of fangirls screaming over the hills and far away…

"…_Teletubbies come to play!"_

"Eh-oh, Tinkey-Winkey!"

"Eh-oh, Po!"

Skipping down the street came four blobby figures in bright colours, doughy expressions on their faces and looking very, _very_ out of place from the war-torn Paris backdrop.

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!" screamed Njord, ripping at Javert's side-whiskers. "It can't be!"

"It was only a few words of narration!" shrieked Venus. "How can that bring them here? There isn't even narration in real life!"

"The world is falling to pieces!" wailed Taliesin. "I've told you before! The barriers have been destroyed – fiction of all kind is entering this realm – the Story is being ripped apart!"

Indeed it was. At that moment Anubis and Thoth materialised back amongst their companions – in their proper forms.

"All sorted!" said Anubis, dusting off his hands. "We set them down outside the theatre on the closing night of the Broadway "Les Miz" – should keep them occupied for a few hours. Should be fine now,"

"Oh no it bloody well isn't!" exclaimed Odin, pointing to the Teletubbies. "_That_ is not fine!"

The Egyptian deities looked where Odin pointed.

"Oh bugger,"

"You can say that again!" hissed Zeus.

This was too much for Njord & Javert. They clamped his hands over his ears, screwed his eyes tightly shut and whimpered.

"But Teletubbies aren't even from books!" protested Nemain.

"Nor was 'Gladiator'," said Epona.

Paris was slowly descending into chaos. From all over the city there could be heard distant screams and shouts, the sound of musket shot and… some sounds that were quite frankly not human. Smoke could be seen to rise from several quarters of the city, but nobody seemed to be moving to put the fires out. Anubis looked around nervously.

"Ok," he said slowly. "I think this might be a good time to leave,"

"But what about the characters?" asked Epona. "We can't just leave them here to die!"

"_I _don't want to die!" exclaimed Gavroche.

"Nor do I!" whimpered Marius. "And nor does Cosette!"

He moved to hug Venus, but she shot him a look that made him recoil as if he'd been stung. Anubis let out a frustrated sigh.

"What makes you think they'll survive outside the Story?" he asked. "Their world is ending, they're part of it – where are we going to put them?"

"EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!"

Everyone turned around. What looked like a pepper pot with attached sink plunger and telescope was advancing along the street firing its laser gun at assorted guards, revolutionaries and Teletubbies.

"What the hell?" cried Apollo.

"It's a Dalek!" murmured Zeus, disbelievingly. "It's only a bloody _Dalek!_"

"THE DOCTOR MUST BE DESTROYED! AWAITING ORDERS FROM THE GOD OF THE DALEKS! WORSHIP HIM! WORSHIP HIM!"

"Where's that bridge?" cried Njord. His face was deranged, contorted between confusion, panic and madness. Two personalities were ripping away at one body – one of them whose sanity had finally caved in. "I need to end this – everything is wrong! _'The law is inside out! The world is upside down!'_… No! Calm down, Inspector; it will be alright!... I'm going to end this – I've got to set this right! I need to be dead! _'I am reaching, but I fall'_… Phillipe! Phillipe, get a grip! Stay with your sanity, your duty! We'll protect you; we'll save you from this! Phillipe, _listen to me!_... _'There is no way to go ON!'_"

Valjean raced forward (and it _was_ Valjean), grabbed hold of Javert's body and shook him violently by the shoulders.

"Javert!" he cried. "It's me, Valjean! Concentrate; get control of yourself! You are Inspector Javert, First Class of the Paris Prefecture! You are a sworn officer of the Law! It is your duty to remain at all times rational – do you hear me, Javert? You need not end your life; there are other ways you can go!"

"He cannot be helped, Valjean," said Apollo, taking hold of him and pulling him away from Javert, who collapsed into a tormented heap on the ground. "He was destined to go mad; he was created for that purpose. He should have died this morning – he managed to stay sane for as long as possible but it is too late! His character has gone into self-destruct!"

"But what about Njord?" asked Asclepius, rushing over and kneeling down beside Javert. "Njord! Are you in there? Can you still hear me? Get out of there! Get out, now!"

Nemain rounded on Loki, grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off the ground.

"Are you proud of your work?" she shouted, shaking him like a rag doll. "Are you satisfied by the chaos you've caused?"

"But it's not me!" the god choked. "It's not me! I swear! I wouldn't push it this far – never!"

"Oh yeah – you would end the world, but you wouldn't send it round the twist?"

"I'm an artist!" sneered/gasped Loki. "I've been waiting forever for Ragnarok – you think I'd blow it on this mess?"

Everyone suddenly dived for cover as a fire-breathing dragon swooped overhead and promptly went off to set light to Les Invalides.

"Perhaps we can go now?" yelled Anubis over the screams of the Dalek as he crawled out from behind an over-turned cart.

"Not without Njord – even if it means taking Javert!"

"Not without Eponine!"

"I'm taking Gavroche!"

"I'm not leaving without my character!"

"Nor I!"

"Nor I!"

"But you can't!" protested Anubis, weakly. "They belong here! Things have gone wrong enough already! If we take them this lot might follow!"

The wall of icy looks that he got from the others spoke for themselves. He turned to Thoth pleadingly, but the preservation of literacy was a cause the ibis had been created to protect. Anubis sighed, exasperated, and threw his arms up in despair.

"Alright!" he cried. "You win! But let's just go now! Right? Good!"

He clicked his fingers.

Nothing happened.

He clicked them again, and again.

"Um… I hate to point out the obvious," said Bacchus. "But we're still here,"

"You think I don't know?" cried the Jackal, desperately clicking his fingers together. "It won't work – I can't do it! Someone else try!"

All the other gods furiously set about doing so, but it was no use.

"It's not working!" shrieked Venus. "We're stranded!"

"I could have told you that," muttered Loki, darkly, nursing his neck. They'd forgotten he and his demons were still there. "I tried to do so a few minutes ago whilst you were engrossed in Dalek spotting. We can't get out,"

"You lie!" exclaimed Odin (having gained control over Valjean again), advancing on him, spear poised. "This is some trick! Let us out, now!"

"Oh, come on!" snarled Loki. "Do you think I would still be here if I could escape? Face it, the Gateways are sealed – we're trapped,"

Just at that moment the ground cracked open. A fiery chasm was revealed below the cobbled streets, and there, emerging from the flaming depths, came a horned head, bat-like wings, and a body formed of raging fire. It let out a roar, a sword of flame in one hand; a hulking monster of ancient fiction.

"A balrog," whispered Epona, covering her mouth with her hand.

The host backed away slowly, the balrog looming before them. The giant beast towered above them, flame lighting up its wings like a sinister peacock and continued to advance.

It was at this point that Javert let out a roaring scream. He foamed at the mouth, shaking from head to foot, every nerve and sensory device on overdrive. The madness had set in – and the body couldn't take it anymore. The air rang with a hideous, singing call. The gods pressed their hands over their ears as the screams, cries and roaring despair pushed down on them; pain shooting through their skulls at the screaming noise worse than a hundred banshees. Reality was folding in on itself. The ground shook and the roads cracked open, buildings were collapsing around them and the city began to fall. The hosts were no longer content to stay quiet – panic drove them all to try and rebel against the invading mentalities. The tables had been turned. The gods lost control. They writhed around in agony, the fractured universe splitting through their entire being, the perfect surface of the mirror breaking and splintering into tiny shards… thousands of tiny diamonds… scattered… divided. Thrown into nothing. Reality had failed. The earth tremored, the sun went dark, the wind froze and a huge voice called out across the universe;

"CEASE! END THIS, NOW!"

Everything fell into silence as the world stopped turning.


	8. A Parting of Personalities

**A/N:** I take it back – I think drawing teeth is easier than this! From insanity… to whatever. The lyrics for the song "Bring Me To Life" belong to Evanescence. And before you say anything else; yes, that _is_ an Archangel swearing – but the author wishes to point out that no one is perfect, except God. She also wishes to point out that this is her story.

P.S. I would like to introduce you to Typos – a relatively modern deity, feared by all computer users as 'He Who Causes the Unseen Mistakes'. Spell & Grammar checks are considered a sacrament to acknowledge his existence & power to completely bugger up a perfectly good line. :)

I'm sorry; it's late. ¦-0

* * *

The pain had stopped, the pressure was gone. All around them the world had frozen – students, soldiers and civilians locked in terror in a grey half-light, Teletubbies about to be annihilated by gunpowder, the Dalek turned over on one side; its occupant half in the process of slithering to safety. The smouldering ruin of the balrog lay only a few feet away. Bewildered and confused, and also a little frightened, the gods and goddesses looked at each other, each face bearing the same question; who did this?

"It was I!"

They all turned and saw a figure suspended in the air before them, wreathed in flame. Its eyes glowed with heavenly fire, the light refracted off its wings and its hands rested on the hilt of its sword; its whole being brilliant against the faded background. At the sight of it Loki recoiled and the demons in Patron-Minette screamed and snarled. The Archangel held them under his fearful gaze.

"Have you had enough now?" questioned the Archangel, the power of his voice making them tremor in fear. "Have you had enough of your own stupidity? We have endured it for thousands of years and now it must cease! Did you ever think what you were doing? Did you even consider the consequences?"

The deities hung their heads, filled with shame. The Archangel continued.

"The law of your retirement is that you do not interfere," he said, eyes blazing. "But thinking you were being oh-so-clever, having bent the rules so often you broke them without even noticing! You took the characters from their proper place and as a result you opened up a wound in Reality, all sorts of things flooded through, the Story nearly died and you almost caused your own destruction! You think you are infallible, but you are not,"

It was true – they knew it to be true. The Archangel could not speak falsehood. Since the day they had been created they had known they were inferior to God… but they had forgotten. How they had forgotten.

"You were created by human beings – you are shadows of their imperfection, which is why there are so many of you. You were never the true gods; you were never omnipresent. You could be tricked and outwitted – you could be deceived. You know it to be true and have always known, but you deluded yourselves,"

There was a long silence in which none of the gods dare speak.

"All of you – release your hosts,"

The bodies slumped down unconscious on the floor as the deities stepped out of their hosts. Once again they were purely themselves, each back to their personification. It had only been a few days, but some had started to forget what they really looked like – such is the weakness of human flesh. They looked at each other, checking that they were all there – none the worse for wear, except for Njord, who was looking distinctly shaken and very much his age. Epona came over and embraced him, resting her head on his chest. Nemain did the same.

The Archangel frowned and focussed his fiery gaze on a small group at the back who were trying to creep away.

"I said _all_ of you!"

Loki and his demons flinched. With a shudder they gave up Thénardier and Patron-Minette, whose bodies fell limp to the floor like those of the other Mizzes. With a wave of his hand the Archangel sent the demons back to whatever circle of Hell they came from, but Loki was made to remain.

"Children," he muttered disdainfully as he turned his attention back to the rest of the gods. "You are hardly more than children. You have no idea of what you did! Behold the destruction you have caused,"

The Archangel held out his hands and there materialised open on the ground Thoth's paperback copy of "Les Misérables". The book had always been dog-eared, but now what lay before them looked worse than it ever had. The pages were torn and charred, glowing lines of smouldering paper frozen in their process of devouring the book. The ink was smudged and the words illegible, white ash crumbling from the sides. Thoth had tears in his eyes.

"Now you see what you have done," said the Archangel, his tone softening. "All this… for a game?"

Taliesin raised his head, his tawny eyes looking morosely at the Archangel.

"What is to be done with us?"

The Archangel sighed.

"That is not for me to decide," he said wearily. "Judgement will come later, but for now you are to return to the extra dimension where you shall await the verdict. The Gateways have been re-opened for you and you may return to your domain. Now go; we will try and set this to rights,"

And with that the gods were gone. The Archangel looked around at the frozen world, then down at the bodies of the Mizzes as all except Patron-Minette began to regain consciousness. Small groans could be heard to escape from the lips of the characters as various people sat up, clutched their heads and looked fearfully around at the suspended mess of fiction. Valjean grabbed hold of Cosette and hugged her tightly.

"Cosette!" he exclaimed tearfully. "Oh thank God you are not hurt!"

"I'm fine, Papa," she said gently. "No, really; I'm fine. Let go – I can't breathe,"

"Cosette!" cried Marius, running towards his beloved. "Cosette, my darling!"

Valjean jerked his head up and growled very loudly, a _very_ angry look on his face which made Marius stop in his tracks. Eponine sidled up to Marius and stood behind him hopefully.

"I'm alright as well, Marius,"

"Oh, wonderful," said Marius distractedly, still looking at Valjean, tugging nervously at his cravat. If looks could kill the young revolutionary would have been twelve foot under by now – six foot to be dead, another six just to make sure. Elsewhere, similar conversations were going on.

"Enjolras…"

"I know what you're going to say, Grantaire," said Enjolras, coldly. "And I don't want to hear anymore about it,"

"But, Enjolras…"

"Such are the disgusting, depraved and primitive morals of the ancient world! It makes me feel sick to think… but we are free of them now. Let's just put it behind us,"

"Um, Enjolras…"

"It's alright, Grantaire. You could not do anything to stop them – I forgive you. Let us talk no more of it,"

"Right," mumbled Grantaire, lowering his eyes and sounding somewhat disappointed. "Right. Didn't mean it. Yeah. Thanks,"

"'Zelma! Did you _see _what happened to 'Parnasse? He's completely blind – no eyes! What were you thinking!"

"But, but it wasn't me, Papa! No more than…"

"Nice act, Miss Mousey! You'll regret it! What were you doing helping a cop anyway? And why aren't the boys awake?"

"You think I'd have more than one marauding criminal running around?" growled the Archangel, silencing Thénardier immediately.

Gavroche rubbed his head and looked around, slightly confused by what had happened but not really caring. As he took in the present chaos he noticed something slumped on the ground a little way apart from everyone else, something that looked suspiciously like a pile of dirty rags… only rags didn't have feet. He nodded in that direction.

"What about him?"

Everybody stopped their private conflicts and looked.

Javert was still lying on the floor. He had not moved. Unlike the rest of them, he seemed to be covered by the same shroud of grey that had been cast upon the rest of the world. Cautiously the others approached.

"Javert?"

There was no reply. He wasn't breathing – there was not a sign of any rib movement. Grantaire nudged him gently with the toe of his boot.

"Hey, Mouchard! Time to get up – it's over,"

Still Javert did not move. Valjean knelt down and put one hand on his shoulder and turned him over so they could see his face. His eyes were half open, cold beads of sweat lay on his forehead and tears had left tracks down his paled cheeks. The Archangel landed softly.

"What's happened to him?" asked Cosette, taking the opportune moment to slide over to Marius for comfort. "What's wrong?"

"He's dead," said Joly. "Can't anyone see that? He's dead!"

"He is not dead," said the Archangel simply. "But very nearly – 2.8533333 seconds away from death to be precise,"

The other Mizzes looked at the Archangel with confused faces.

"But why is he not dead?" Joly persisted. "If he was 2.8… something seconds away from death whatever time it was, he should be dead _now_,"

"Time has been suspended for him," said the Archangel. "Along with the rest of this world. If it were to start back up again then he would die,"

"But why not now?" asked Jehan.

"Yes, why?" asked Enjolras, shifting position slightly, taking in the tortured look that remained on Javert's face. "Should he not be dead? If he were to die things would be set to right. The state he was in beforehand I think it would be kindest!"

"Yeah," said Thénardier, sneering. "Who'd miss another wooden top?"

"How can you say that?" shrieked Azelma, grabbing the crook by the collar. "Do you know what he's been through? Have you seen what he's suffered?"

Everybody exchanged nervous glances.

"You sure that's not Nemain still in there?"

"I would know if it was," said the Archangel, as Eponine prised her sister off her startled father. He sighed, returning to subject of the almost dead inspector.

"He should have died this morning; that was the Story. But if he died now that isn't the Story and that would be another thing gone wrong – might be the final straw as far as your reality is concerned,"

"Can't you bring him back?"

The Archangel looked at Javert thoughtfully for a moment and stroked his chin.

"Maybe…" he said after a while. "But he would still be mad. Anyway, it's generally against the rules. It was never meant to go this far,"

"Rules?" exclaimed Valjean. "Cannot the rules of Fiction be substituted for mercy? I was shown mercy and kindness when all the rules should have condemned me! Can you not show him the same?"

"No," said the Archangel sternly. "And I'm not talking about the rules of Fiction, or Corporeal laws – I'm talking about the rules of Life and Death. And don't keep harking on about the candlesticks; this is completely different, as you well know,"

"What candlesticks, Papa?" asked Cosette, curiously. Valjean turned red and quickly averted his gaze.

"But aren't we meant to be dead?" chipped in Combeferre. "From what I heard from Zeus we were all meant to die in the Barricades – Enjolras, Eponine, Grantaire, Joly, Jehan and myself… we're all meant to be dead. Why don't you just kill us?"

"Weren't you listening?" snapped the Archangel. His patience may be infinite, but it wasn't _that_ infinite. "For the same reason I can't let the Inspector die! If you popped your clogs now it would be completely wrong, out of place, messy and just another pain in the arse of the universe!"

Seeing the looks on their faces, the Archangel sighed, forcing himself to calm down.

"Alright," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Let's just take this one step at a time. _No one_ is going to die; at least not as a result of this mess. It is my job to fix this, and fix it I shall. The situation is not yet so bad that it is beyond redemption,"

"You think?" asked Jehan, giving the Dalek a sideways glance.

"But the Story has stopped!" exclaimed Valjean. "You said so yourself! If that has stopped then it won't matter whether you bring him back or not!"

"So you've said a hundred and fifty times!" snapped the Archangel. "Why do you care?"

Valjean looked slightly taken aback, but endeavoured to keep his composure.

"Please, M. l'Archange," said Cosette quietly, deciding to appeal on her father's behalf. "Please bring him back,"

The Archangel sighed and cursed inside. He could not be doing with this; he _really_ could not be doing with this. With a gesture of his hand the grey shroud was lifted as Javert was returned to the present time frame. The Inspector's eyes opened, their dark irises once again visible to the world, but the tortured expression had now been replaced by one of blankness. The eyes did not focus though; they just stared into the mid-distance. Everyone flinched slightly as one of the glowing embers crinkled a tiny bit more of the mauled paperback – but then it halted once more.

"So," said Combeferre, after a long silence. "What now?"

"Now," said the Archangel. "I set this all to rights!"

"_How can you see into my eyes like open doors…"_

Everyone looked down. Javert had begun to sing quietly to himself, the same absent expression on his face – the expression of someone who no longer knows or cares what world they are in.

"_Leading you down into my core where I've become so numb…"_

"Njord was humming that song the other day,"

"I said he'd still be mad," muttered the Archangel, darkly. "Your request is just exposing him to extra pain,"

"_Without a soul; my spirit sleeping somewhere cold…"_

"Poor man!" said Cosette, placing one hand over her mouth. "Can't you do anything for him? Can't you restore his sanity?"

"_Wake me up inside, wake me up inside – call my name and save me from the dark…"_

"No," said the Archangel bluntly. "I've already done enough,"

"Not much left of the Story," said Jehan glumly. "I wouldn't think rules really matter anymore!"

"…_bid my blood to run before I come undone; save me from the nothing I've become…"_

"They do," said the Archangel, shaking his head. "Rules always matter – there are always rules. We have wasted too much time already. This can't go on much longer and I'm not about to go through another argument!"

He clicked his fingers and Javert's eyes closed completely. Grantaire looked up, confused.

"What was that?"

"He is sleeping," said the Archangel. "It's the most I can do for him. No dreams, no problems – just complete oblivion. And just let it be like that," he said, shooting a sideways glance at Valjean, who had opened his mouth to protest. "We need to get started; there isn't much time,"

Once more bearing himself aloft, the Archangel frowned at the characters and the general chaos of the dying Story. He folded his arms across his chest severely, the light of his body becoming brighter and brighter till everything around them was lost in a brilliant white light that washed through their souls and out the other side again. They seemed to be suspended in nothingness – it felt like flying; no, drifting… or was it flying? Everything that came before didn't seem to matter anymore. It felt like there was joy within the light, and their eyes saw the most beautiful things…

"Now then," came the disembodied voice of the Archangel. "Let's try it again, shall we? Once more; from the top!"


	9. Grievous Bodily Confusion

**A/N:** Et fin – at last! I did have an alternative ending to this, but it was getting rather 'X' rated & I don't want to get banned. So I've salvaged what I can and you'll have to make do with the clean version. Shame _(snicker)_. Just for you, KaseyRider, I've put in the Morrigan; just read carefully or you'll miss it. Ladies and gentlemen – let's have a big hand for our special guest star; Cecil the Jelly Fish! (And yes, I know a jelly fish can't move around on solid ground, but this is a _special_ jelly fish. I also don't know if they are attracted by bright colours; mainly because I've never asked one).

A reminder to readers that this was originally started with the intent of being a humour fic, so it was bound to get silly at some point :)

For some reason I suddenly have visions of an adolescent Javert singing "Teenage Dirtbag".

* * *

_"How can you see into my eyes like open doors  
Leading you down into my core  
Where I've become so numb  
Without a soul; my spirit sleeping somewhere cold  
Until you find it there and lead it back home…"_

Javert awoke very slowly and a little confused. He didn't exactly remember what had happened last night, but whatever it was it had definitely been interesting. He rolled over to gaze at the ceiling and just lay there, awash with a feeling of peace and complete and utter contentment… which was unusual; decidedly unusual. Hm. For some strange reason he felt like he had just been swimming.

There was also this song going around inside his head; some random song that he had never heard before in his life. It was a really strange tune, and as he remembered it, with a lot of harsh grating sounds and complicated percussion. He also remembered lights; lights and colours that were so vivid and unreal – and a figure, a figure wreathed in flame… What _had_ he been doing last night?

Somewhat groggily he got up from the bed and took a step forward, but then he looked up and saw the suit of armour in front of him.

"AGH!"

He recoiled and sat back down on the bed, heart pounding, panting to get his breath back. When he'd established that it wasn't an actual person, Javert got up and cautiously approached. It was unlike any armour he'd seen before, but it was definitely armour – people didn't tend to wear chain mail as a purely fashion item. Someone had arranged it on a blue velvet tailor's dummy so that it stood upright almost directly next to his bed. This definitely hadn't been here yesterday.

He gingerly touched a bit of the blue-green fabric that made up the cloak. It was real, definitely real – expensive material and all; good quality metal work too. His eyes caught sight of an envelope sticking out of the corner of the breastplate. Carefully, so as not to disturb the structure, he pulled out the white envelope which turned out to be unsealed and addressed to _"Inspector P.A. Javert"_.

This fairly puzzled Javert. As far as he knew no one bothered to use his first initial, let alone his name; and as for the 'A'… that _scared_ him more than anything else. He didn't recognise the handwriting. Hardly daring to anticipate what else he may find he opened the envelope. It contained a letter;

_"8th July, 1832_

_Dear Phillipe,_

_What can I say? It was nice knowing you, but difficult working with you – if at times highly educational. You really reminded me what it was to be human. I've written this now, because if I know anything about the way angels work I may very shortly not remember this, and nor will you. I know I probably shouldn't have left you the armour, but I have no use for it and it always looked better on you anyway._

_Good luck. I wish you all the best in your next venture, and Justice says not to worry; she swears she'll take care of you._

_Regards,_

_Njord._

_P.S. Manon says she wished it was different too. She asks to be remembered to you."_

Javert blinked. He let out a disbelieving laugh. The 8th July… the letter was dated 8th July; but today was the 6th! Was it? He threw up the sash of the bedroom window, leaned out into the street and looked around. There was a delivery boy leading his pony and cart slowly along the road. Javert stuck two fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. Startled, the boy looked up.

"Hey, you there!"

And Njord? What kind of a name was Njord? He'd never met anyone working under that name, not even for a code name! He'd never worn armour in his life! Someone must be having him on – this was crazy!... but it wasn't all fabricated. How did this person know his first and middle name? How did they know about his 'next venture' if they hadn't been working with him? And how did they know about Manon? _No one_ knew about Manon; even he'd forgotten her until now! There was no way he would have told anyone – not in a million years!

"What's the date today?"

"Date?" asked the boy, confused. "What, today's date?"

"Yes, today," said Javert, willing himself to have patience with such an obtuse person at this time of the morning.

"'S 5th today, sir," called the boy.

"Of July?"

"Yes, sir!"

"You sure?"

"'Course! Got d'liveries for t'day, an' t'day's the 5th!"

Javert frowned and made to close the window, but the boy called up after him.

"Don' I get a tip?"

"For telling me the date?" exclaimed Javert. "Don't be ridiculous!"

"People use'ly gives mi' tips for askin' mi' stuff," grumbled the boy.

"Work out what P-I-S-S-O-F-F spells and I might," said Javert, and he slammed the sash down, making the glass rattle in its putty.

The 5th? This was daft, this was seriously daft! Somehow or other he'd gained a day – which was insane! He vaguely remembered getting up and going to the post, then something to do with planning and a visitor… He stood and regarded the armour once more, then read the letter again. _Manon…_ It was strange and it unnerved him; but he couldn't deal with it now; not today.

About ten minutes later he emerged from his apartment fully dressed, hat in one hand and made his way downstairs. As it was still exceptionally early there was hardly anyone about and when he stepped into the street it was completely deserted – apart from the delivery boy, who had a piece of paper and a stick of charcoal and was leaning on the side of the cart; his expression one of profound concentration. He looked up and saw Javert, an inane smile on his face.

"It spells that!" he said proudly, holding up the paper for Javert to read. The small grubby scrap of paper held a single word of badly printed letters proclaiming;

"PISSOFF"

"Close," said Javert, dryly. "Nice try – but no sou,"

And with that he headed off towards the Prefecture, leaving behind the disgruntled delivery boy.

-a-

Anubis sighed and closed his hand over the spine of a very thick book. He turned it over and read the cover.

"'Les Misérables'?"

There was moment's pause. Anubis could hear a few whispered discussions, then Odin cleared his throat.

"We accept," he said grandly. "We feel this book to be suitably free of Classical influence and that certain characters can be used to our advantage,"

"Agreed," said Zeus. "My fellow deities and I accept this challenge,"

"Great!" said Anubis. "Now I'll leave you to…"

"No!"

Everyone turned to look at Njord. The water god looked uneasy.

"I, I don't think this is such a good idea,"

"Why?" asked the Morrigan. "It's perfect! We get to settle our scores, but we do it in an interesting way,"

"Exactly!" said Aphrodite. "Possession is always fun!"

"But… but don't you remember?" asked Njord, looking around, quite perturbed. "We already decided to go ahead and do this, but then things got out of hand. The characters were being rewritten, their world almost died because of us and the Archangel had to turn back time to sort it out… You must remember the Archangel!"

There was a silence.

"Where," said Odin. "Did you get all that nonsense from?"

"It is not nonsense," said Njord. "You took the body of Jean Valjean, I took Javert, Epona was Eponine, Nemain was Azelma, Taliesin was Jehan and our champion was Gavroche!"

Nemain pulled a face.

"Gavroche? That's almost as bad as Marius!"

"_They_ had Marius,"

Nemain turned to look at the classical gods with a mixture of shock and revulsion. Venus tossed her head pertly.

"Does anybody else remember this nonsense?" she called.

Epona looked thoughtful for a minute.

"I think I do," she said quietly. "I certainly remember the bit about Marius!"

There was some muffled conversion between the rest of the gods before several coughed and raised a hand.

"So," said Anubis carefully. "I would take it that there is a growing consensus that this is not such a good idea after all?"

"No!" snapped Apollo quickly. "I've got a character perfectly lined up for me down there! What happened can't have been that serious if most can only vaguely remember it,"

"Oh really?" questioned Taliesin, placing his hands on his hips. "Then try this for size; Loki got out of the cave,"

A thick silence settled over the extra dimension.

"Oh,"

"Sooo," said Anubis slowly. "Now that the Challenge idea is out the window what do we do now?"

"I'm past caring," muttered Thor, shrugging. "Only in my opinion Five-a-side is too few for a good battle,"

"Same difference," said Jupiter. "Is everyone playing then?"

"Njord, you up for a game? Apparently you've got a sword and armour now,"

"I gave the armour to Javert," said Njord, padding out the door; a resigned expression on his face. "I'm going for a swim – I need it,"

He held his hand out to Skadi.

"My lady?"

Skadi, surprised by this unusual gesture of familiarity, looked at her husband with some curiosity, but took his hand nonetheless and accompanied him outside. A few moments later there was the sound of a pleasantly surprised female laugh and a splash. The gods exchanged glances.

"What's got into them?"

Anubis shrugged, non-committed.

"Why don't we have a match between ourselves?" piped up Nemain, not wishing to see the chance of a good massacre disappear into the long grass. "Just us, like it would have been in the past. Blood and armour; swords and steel!"

"Oh no!" moaned Sekhemet, placing a paw over her eyes. "Not again! _Please _not again!"

"Yes," said Mars, taking a step forward; a bloodthirsty tone coming to his voice. "Valour and victory; warrior against warrior – armies colliding so the thunder rings with the sound of their clash!"

"Take no prisoners!" cried Odin, a harsh laugh coming from his throat. "Show no mercy! That is the way it's been – how it always should be!"

"Let lightning strike you down!"

"Let the dogs of Hell be unleashed!"

"May fire consume you and all your kind! Let the sky be burnt in our wrath!"

"Swords and spears shall rattle! Bones and armour break!"

"Let victory swoop on the wings of the battle-crows!"

"Or," said Anubis quickly. "We could modernise things a bit,"

The opposing gods stopped exchanging hatefully zealous glares and turned to look at the Jackal, somewhat put out and puzzled.

"All those in favour of this lot settling their scores without an almighty ruckus and getting blood stains on the parquet," said Anubis loudly. "Raise a limb!"

A sea of assorted hands, flippers, paws, talons, hooves, tails, tentacles and branches were put in the air.

"The motion is carried," Anubis said triumphantly. "So you lot can either find some other way to settle this or not settle it at all,"

The Classical and Teutonic gods cast around disbelieving glances; but each way they looked they were met with hostile glares. Seeing all chance of a decent punch-up completely quashed, Thor threw his hammer to the ground in frustration, before it immediately returned to his hand.

"Fine then!" he cried, folding his arms with an attitude like that of a spoilt toddler. "Fine! So go on, dog-face; tell us your brilliant oh-so-great idea!"

Smiling smugly, Anubis fished under the sofa and pulled out a colourful cardboard box. Taking off the lid, he picked up a cardboard dial divided into four with a red plastic arrow.

"Get ready for…"

He spun the little plastic arrow on the dial, an evil grin on his face.

"…_Twister!_"

-a-

Valjean rubbed his head in a confused way. What had he been doing just now? He had been pacing up and down the floor, but he couldn't for the life of him remember why. He knew he was getting old, but he never thought he would be going senile! Hoping to see if he could trigger any memories he resumed his pacing, but no joy.

It was early evening, just the other side of dusk, and all was quiet outside. It was quite a beautiful night to tell the truth; the stars were out and the air was pleasantly warm. Valjean went over to the window and lifted the sash, poking his head outside and inhaling the scent of jasmine from the trellis below. He'd left Cosette sitting on the stone seat in the garden, but she wasn't there anymore. Reasoning that she had gone indoors, Valjean pulled his head back in to close the window again in order to go and find her, but then a sudden string of thoughts seared across his mind and stayed his hand.

In front of his eyes there was the image of him and Inspector Javert wrestling on the ground, then Javert lying nude in bed, something about a hellish creature made of fire, then a blinding white light and colours… a heavenly voice and the sensation of flying…

For a moment the ex-convict stood motionless, his hand still poised to close the sash, unable to believe his own senses. _Where_ had that come from? When had he ever seen Javert _naked_? And in bed, come to think of that! Why on earth would they have been scrapping like a couple of tom cats? What were those premonitions of Heaven and Hell…? They were all so vivid, so real…

He shook himself awake as he heard a piercing scream from down in the garden. In that moment all thoughts of nude police inspectors or heavenly bliss were pushed aside from his head as he charged out into the corridor, down the back stairs, straight through the kitchen and out into the night with a cry of "COSETTE!"

-a-

It was now on to the masters' championships of Twister. Nemain was tangled up with her face in Thor's armpit making melodramatic coughing sounds, Mercury had his leg over Odin, Athena was underneath Bacchus and was fast starting to wish she wasn't and Apollo was in a complicated back-bridge balance with Juno and Minerva.

"Admit defeat!" hissed Odin.

"Never!" cried Juno, gasping for breath.

"So be it," said Anubis, solemnly.

He spun the spinner once more and looked up at the string of contorted deities, his eyes grave, his voice low as if announcing the doom of mankind.

"Right foot… blue,"

Minerva and Nemain promptly collapsed. The Jackal grinned.

"And then there were seven,"

-a-

Grantaire was sitting leaning on the table, one hand supporting his chin and watching Enjolras speaking. He let out a sigh and drained his glass before refilling it, making an educated guess from experience that the glass to fill out of the two in front of you was the invisible one in the middle.

"Apollo, Apollo," he kept mumbling to himself. "My Apollololollo,"

It was at this point that Marius staggered in, tripping over a chair and falling flat on the floor next to Grantaire. He was in quite a state.

"Hello Marius," said Grantaire, pouring more liquid into his glass, but accidentally picking the one on the right and getting half of it on the table.

"Marius!" exclaimed Combeferre, helping him up. "What's wrong?"

"She's moving!" Marius choked. "She's moving to England!"

At this Feuilly rolled his eyes and cast a despairing glance at Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac passed this on to Joly, who attempted to pass on the look, but sneezed at Jehan, who visibly winced.

"Charming!"

"You're welcob,"

"Marius," said Enjolras, coming over as he knew any chance of continuing his speech had been lost as soon as the hapless revolutionary tottered in. "How many times have I told you – love for an individual cannot and must not take the place of your love for the Cause. Lamarque is dead, we're about to make our first move; we need every man we got. The last thing we need is you going off chasing a woman!"

"Cheer up," said Combeferre, nudging Marius with his elbow. "You'll get over her. You'll find someone else,"

"Yeah," said Grantaire, drawing pictures on the table in spilt alcohol. "Like that Venus woman,"

At this all eyes in the café turned to Grantaire.

"What 'Venus woman'?"

"You know," said Grantaire. "Back when all those gods and goddesses were having a fight. Enjolras was Apollo, 'Ferre was Zeus, Joly and me was others and there were some more. That scary policeman with side-whiskers was a sea god, but he went mad, and there was a girl who said she was a lady horse… then we were going to have a fight, but a great big snake came and ate Bahorel, 'long with Courfeyrac and a tiger; then there was a lot of screaming girls, an angel came and told the gods off, there was this big white light and all the while Marius was having sex with Venus. You must remember that!"

There was a stunned silence. Enjolras looked at the bottle Grantaire was holding with some suspicion, then inspected the contents of his glass.

"Grantaire," he said slowly. "Have you been mixing vodka with absinthe again?"

"Yes," said Grantaire, reaching for his glass and finding it not there. "But it's alright – all that stuff happened tomorrow,"

"Grantaire… I think you ought to lay off the spirits for a while,"

"You calling me a liar?"

"No…" said Combeferre.

"Enjolras, say you believe me! I wouldn't lie to you!"

"I think you ought to go home, Grantaire," said Enjolras carefully, prising the bottle from the revolutionary's fingers (with some difficulty). "Go home and sleep it off, old friend,"

"But I'm fine! Look, I'm alright as long as I go for the invisible glass in the middle!"

"That settles it," said Courfeyrac, getting up and taking Grantaire's arm. "Joly, help me get him home,"

"No! You _must_ remember Zeus! You were throwing lightning bolts around as practice and I was Bacchus!"

"This is definitely worse than usual," said Joly, taking Grantaire's other arm and dragging him towards the door. "Come on, your drunkenness; beddie-byes for you,"

"Enjolras! I'll never forgive you! You're just pretending to get back at me! That's not fair!"

"Ups a boy – mind the step!"

"Do you think we should carry him?"

"There's that girl who said she was a horse! Ask her!"

"Keep going,"

"Enjolras!"

"For goodness sake, walk straight, man!"

"I am!"

"You're not,"

"Then I can't,"

"Come on!"

And with that they disappeared around the corner, half carrying, half walking the unfortunate drunk home. Enjolras shook his head and sighed.

"Sometimes I worry about him,"

Eponine stuck her head around the door, her gaze roaming the room until it settled on the unhappy student lawyer.

"Marius?"

Marius promptly burst into tears.

-a-

It was now down to Odin and Apollo. The tension was mounting.

"Left hand… red,"

"Oof,"

"Left foot… yellow,"

"Ack! Mind where you're putting that leg!"

"Right hand… pink,"

"Eugh… Hey! There's no pink!"

"Good!" smiled the Jackal. "You were paying attention,"

"For pity's sake get on with it!" cried Odin, twisted in something that could only really be described as a half arabesque reverse bridge. "This is killing me!"

"Ha!" gasped Apollo, sweat pouring down his forehead. "Ready to fall, are you?"

"In your dreams!" grunted theLord of the Aesir. There was a collective groan from the assembled deities.

"This is getting boring," moaned Mercury. "It was funny to start off with, now it's just dull,"

"Too right," agreed the Morrigun. "How much longer can they possibly go on?"

"Knowing them, probably forever!" sighed Bastet, sitting primly; her paws tucked in neatly. "We need something to liven this us a bit,"

It was at this point that Thoth looked down at the floor.

"Um," he said, tapping the Morrigun on the shoulder. "Where is _that_ going?"

The Morrigun looked down to see a small jelly fish making its way across the floor. Frowning, she watched it go by, then smiled as something occurred to her; the jelly fish was making a beeline for the Twister pile.

"Oh no," she said, her smile spreading from ear to ear. "Oh _no_,"

It was at this point Njord appeared beside them, soaking wet and clutching a towel around his waist.

"Hello," he said. "How's it going?"

"Not too badly," said Thoth, trying to keep a straight face as Mercury started sniggering. Ptah was making muffled choking sounds. "No, not bad at all,"

"Right..." said Njord, slowly. "Has anyone seen a jelly fish come this way? I accidentally trod on him and he seems to have gone off in a huff somewhere,"

"Well, now you come to mention it…" said Khamun, casting a glance towards the continuing game of Twister. Njord looked in that direction and went wide eyed.

"Oh no," he moaned.

"He's not by any chance a stinging jelly fish?" asked Nemain hopefully.

"And jelly fish are attracted by bright colours as well!" groaned Njord. "Oh hell! No! Cecil, come back here!"

Cecil seemed to have other ideas though. He was already crawling up Apollo's leg.

"No! Bad jelly fish! Come back here now!"

The look on Apollo's face had now changed from one of profound concentration to horror as he felt something wet and slimy crawling up his leg.

"What's that?" he gasped. "Get it off someone! Get it off!"

"Cecil," growled Njord, taking a threatening step forward. "Come back here this minute or else I put you in with the turtles!"

In terms of mountaineering Cecil the jelly fish was making great progress. Apollo was now positively whimpering.

"Someone kill it!" cried Odin.

"Sorry, gents; but we can't in any way interfere," said Anubis, laying the board aside. "To do that we'd have to call it a draw and end the match,"

"Then call it a bloody draw!" shrieked Odin. "Don't let it come anywhere near me!"

"Doth my ears deceive me?" gasped Anubis, cupping his hand to his ear theatrically. "Both you gentlemen would be happy with calling it a draw?"

"Yes!" cried Apollo, panicking. "Someone get it off! It's going up my toga!"

"Oo, nasty," commented Epona. "Should I be feeling sorry for you or the jelly fish?"

"Pleeease! Get it off!"

"Ok!" said Anubis, throwing the spinner aside. "It's a draw. Now will the owner kindly remove the offending marine creature?"

Njord strode forward, bent down, lifted the bottom of Apollo's toga, inserted one hand and pulled out the jelly fish.

"Sorry about that," he said as Odin and Apollo collapsed in relief. "It was the bright colours on the mat; he couldn't help himself,"

"So it's a draw!" exclaimed Osiris. "Finally it's over!"

"Not yet," laughed Jupiter. "Y'know what they say; it's never over till the fat lady sings! Give us a tune, Brunhilda,"

Everybody fell silent. You could have heard a pin drop. The Valkyrie gave him a thunderous glare.

"I am not _fat_!" she snapped. "And I don't sing,"

"I didn't mean it like that!" said Jupiter hurriedly. "I was only joking! You know what I meant!"

"I'm not sure that I do!"

"Are you calling my daughter fat?" growled Odin.

"It seems he is!" chipped in Mars. "What you going to do about it?"

"This!" cried Odin. He let out a battle cry and pounced on the messenger of the gods. Soon, all the Classical and Teutonic deities (apart from a few) were absorbed into the huge fray, the truce having lasted all of two minutes. Anubis sighed and shook his head.

"C'mon," he said wearily to the other gods, turning his back and putting his hands in his pockets. "Let's go play Scrabble,"

FIN.

**

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A/N: And that's it. My thanks to everyone who reviewed & chooses to review this last chapter. May I also say to those who continued reading… get well soon.**

Credits: Directed by me, Costume design by whoever decided the fashions in 1832 & me, Casting by A. Lunatik, Based (very loosely) on the book "Les Misérables" by Victor Hugo & Special FX provided by McHare's Highland Whiskey Distillery. Merry Christmas to all, and may God bless the People's Republic of Ashurst Wood. Ta ta!


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